


Every Inch But One

by whitchry9



Series: The Patron Saint of Idiots [4]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (it's accidental), Brainwashing, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, F/M, Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Mary Sue Big Bang, Medical, Medicine, New York City, Past Brainwashing, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Super Soldiers, church, infections, lots of feelings, planes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 25,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5190590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a mysterious guy shows up in Miranda's flat one night, she figures it's really not that unusual, considering what she's done in the past couple of years. What is unusual is that the guy turns out to be the freaking Winter Soldier, who then sort of accidentally kidnaps her. (She's not sure how kidnapping is accidental either.)</p><p>Part of the 'Patron Saint of Idiots' series, but doesn't require reading the others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is both for my Mary Sue Big Bang AND the long coming part of my patron saints series that involves literally all of the feels. (Cause Bucky and Matt need Miranda, so off she went.)
> 
> I'm really happy that I can finally share it with you, and I hope you enjoy.

Miranda let herself into her flat after a long shift. She hadn't had that many calls or patients, but the few she did have were complicated. One man waiting for a heart transplant with an LVAD that was experiencing shortness of breath. A young girl that had been hit by a car and was in shock. So she was ready to fall into bed and sleep for at least 12 hours, or until she forgot about how long her day had been. Ronald's shift would end in a few hours, and she really hoped that he didn't wake her up when he got home.

 

She very much did not expect the man sitting in her living room.

“I heard that you fix people,” he said quietly.

Miranda nearly screamed, but not quite. She did jump about a foot in the air.

“Jesus, you people need to stop breaking into my flat.” She turned the nearby light on, the one she'd threatened to throw at Fury when he first showed up in her flat back then.

The man still managed to be mostly shrouded in darkness, sitting in the same armchair that Fury had been in. His face was mostly covered by his hair, which was long, reaching nearly his shoulders. He was wearing a coat with the collar turned up, and gloves on both of his hands. He had a few days worth of growth on his face, and he looked generally unkempt.

“I'm sorry, do I know you?”

He didn't say anything, just kept looking at her, tilting his head slightly. She kind of wished she had unplugged the lamp to use as a weapon instead, just in case.

“Why are you here?”

He stood up at that, and she took a step back, but he didn't come towards her. He did undo his coat and shrug it off. He turned, lifting the side of his shirt up, revealing a long cut extending from his stomach around to his back.

“You want me to... fix you?” she asked.

He turned back to her, dropping his shirt, and nodding.

Which... okay. Not the weirdest thing that had happened to her. One of them, certainly, but not the winner.

“Okay,” she said. “I can do that. You're... you're not going to hurt me, are you? Cause that's a thing I need to know upfront.”

The man shook his head. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place him.

“I'm not sure I have all the materials. Why don't you come to the kitchen and I can examine it. I'll just grab a pair of gloves.”

She turned to go to the bathroom, where she kept the first aid kit, when he grabbed her around the wrist. His fingers encircled her entire wrist, gripping tightly. They'd probably leave a bruise.

Miranda looked up at him. “Let go of me. I'm going to get the first aid kit. You can follow me if you want.”

He examined her, then released her wrist. There was a slight whirring sound as he moved his arm back to his side.

 

He did follow her as she went to the loo, grabbing the first aid kit from under the sink. He trailed after her as she went back to the kitchen, and stood absolutely still, as if waiting to be instructed about what to do.

Miranda considered it. “Why don't you hop up onto the counter, so I can get at your side.” She moved aside a cutting board and some abandoned glasses, and the man obeyed.

She slipped her gloves on, examining the contents of the first aid kit. It was more advanced than most, but it might not be enough for this man's injury. She hoped that wasn't the case, because she didn't know what he'd do if she couldn't patch him up. She wasn't exactly afraid of him, but she knew she should be. Her self preservation instincts hadn't been that great since she'd met Sherlock and all that. Maybe this man was a friend of his.

 

She lifted his shirt up carefully, in case he took offense to that. The cut was worse than she'd thought in the dim light of the living room. It was a few days old, and wasn't actively bleeding, but it was infected.

“You should take this off,” she told him, referring to the shirt. He didn't respond, instead crumpling the extra fabric and tucking it under his arm so she didn't have to hold it up.

“Alright,” she muttered. “That works too.”

She felt along the borders of the cut. It was clean, and had clearly been made with something sharp. The edges lined up well. If he'd come into the hospital, she probably wouldn't have given it stitches. What she would have done was clean it out, so it couldn't have gotten into this state, red and hot and seeping. It was also probably incredibly painful.

 

“Well,” she started, straightening up. “It doesn't need stitches, and I couldn't even stitch it up if it did, because it's been too long since the initial injury. But it is infected, and it needs to be cleaned out. I can do that. But you'll also need antibiotics, and those I can't give you. I can't write prescriptions, and even if I could, I wouldn't know what antibiotic to give you. We'd have to swab the wound and grow a culture.”

He turned his gaze to her. He didn't look happy. Not that he'd looked happy at any point during their interaction, but still.

“I don't have the supplies. You'll need to go to a surgery, or maybe A&E.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Right, okay. I'll just clean this out, and you can decide what to do about the infection later.”

 

She gathered the supplies to clean his wound. The silence was deafening.

“So, how did you hear about me?” she asked, wiping at the start of the cut. He flinched only slightly, but didn't respond.

“Okay, so you're not going to do any talking?”

He didn't respond to that either, of course. She discarded the used piece of gauze and pulled another one out.

“Okay, I can do the talking. I'm Miranda. I guess you probably knew that, since you came into my flat and asked, well, demanded, that I fix you, so you have to know a bit about what I do and who I am. What I can't figure out is who you are. Probably someone associated with either Sherlock or the Avengers. Your accent isn't English, although it's not like you've said much. That doesn't rule either out though. You came to me instead of going to A&E, so I'm guessing you have reason to hide. You hold yourself like a soldier, but you startle easily, so I'm guessing you have some sort of post traumatic stress disorder. And you don't want to take your shirt off, so either you're self conscious, or there's something you don't want me to see.”

She finished her initial cleaning, and leaned back to look at him. He hadn't acknowledged any of what she'd said.

“You don't have to reply, although it would be nice if you did, considering you did break into my flat late at night,” she pointed out.

She grabbed antiseptic wipes to go over the wound again.

“Bucky,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him. “Okay. Nice to meet you Bucky. Have you given more thought to getting some antibiotics to treat this infection?”

Bucky only shook his head.

 

In the light of the kitchen, she could see his face better. There were dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept for days. She wondered where he'd come from to find her. And why her. She really wasn't special. She was sure this man could have found medics or nurses anywhere.

 

She finished cleaning his wound and taped a bandage over it.

“You're all done.” She glanced at the clock on the microwave. “My husband will be home soon. I'm guessing you don't want to be here for that.”

Bucky let his shirt down, and slid off the counter. He shook his head.

“You need antibiotics,” she told him again.

He didn't say anything.

“It hasn't spread to your blood yet, not as far as I can tell, but it will if you don't get antibiotics.”

He looked through his hair at her.

 

Her mobile rang. Miranda dug it out of the pocket of her work pants and looked down. “It's my husband. I should answer it.”

Just as she went to answer the call, Bucky raised an arm.

She barely saw the blow coming, but she would have sworn there was a flash of metal as the hand knocked her out.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Her head hurt. She obviously hadn't slept long enough. Miranda sighed, and went to roll over. She couldn't. Her wrists were bound together, and she was strapped down.

Her eyes opened, and she tried to sit up, but the bindings held her down.

 

The light was bright, and it took her a few seconds to adjust, but she could tell that she wasn't in her flat.

“What the hell?” she yelled. She was in the back of some sort of small aeroplane. The things she thought were straps were actually multiple seat belts, holding her secure while she slept.

 

The man flying the plane didn't bother to look back at her.

“I'm sorry,” he said. It sounded like he meant it, but honestly, Miranda didn't care. Apologies didn't count for much when you were kidnapped and thrown on an aeroplane.

 

The man was familiar. Long hair, a jacket with the collar pulled up.

She had a sudden flash of him sitting on her counter. Something about a cut. This man had been in her flat.

 

“You said you weren't going to hurt me,” she whispered. “You promised.”

The man only hunched over more. “I'm sorry,” he repeated.

He'd told her his name, but it was slipping her mind at the moment, probably as a result of having been hit on the head rather hard. She remembered a flash of metal coming towards her face.

That probably explained the pain.

 

She wriggled a little, trying to get herself into a better position. She managed to sit up enough to lean her head against the side of the small plane. The man no longer had his gloves on, and Miranda could see both his hands clearly now. The one was metal.

 

The man's identity struck her suddenly. The news footage from DC, the incident with Steve. This man had been there. He'd been the one to try and kill Captain America. The man with the metal arm. The Winter Soldier.

Bucky.

 

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “You're him.”

Bucky only slouched further, like he was trying to hide himself from her within his jacket.

“Where are we going?”

She could see blue out of the window. Water.

“Reykjavik.”

Miranda blinked. That was in Iceland. “What's there?”

“Fuel.”

“Right. Cause if you're going to steal an aeroplane, you're going to want to make sure it actually gets you to where you're trying to go. Which I assume is not Iceland.”

Bucky doesn't respond.

“Used up all your words? Right.” She tugged experimentally at her wrists again, just to see if there was any give in her bonds. There wasn't, of course. The guy was a professional.

“Why did you take me? I fixed you up. I told you that you needed antibiotics. There wasn't anything else I could do for you, and certainly not however high up we are. You told me you weren't going to hurt me. And I foolishly believed you.”

Bucky brushed his hair out of his face with the hand that wasn't metal.

“Your phone,” he said simply. “It... scared me.”

“It scared you?” she repeated. “It scared you into knocking me unconscious and tying me up and throwing me on a plane and belting me in and flying said plane out across the ocean.”

He flinched at her words.

“Right. So am I correct is assuming Iceland isn't your final destination?”

He nodded.

“Great. Are you going to tell me where we're going? How are you going to explain a woman tied up in the back of your plane while you get refueled?”

He shrugged.

“That's not very good planning,” she pointed out.

He pointedly flicked a switch and ignored her. She hoped he wasn't going to crash out of pure spite.

She sighed. “How's your side?” That she did know how to deal with. But for some reason, she didn't think this man, this weapon, had taken her solely for her ability to clean wounds. He was far too clever for that.

“Sore,” Bucky admitted.

“Because you need antibiotics.”

He scoffed at her.

“Look, I don't know what your immune system is like, if you've survived the plague or something, who knows these days, but I'm telling you that you need antibiotics before the infection spreads to your blood. If it hasn't yet.” She craned her neck to try and get a better look at his face for signs of fever. It was too hard to tell with the light coming in. “It could actually kill you, Bucky.”

He flinched violently at the usage of his name, and the plane shuddered in response.

Okay. She would not be doing that again.

“You should sleep,” he muttered. “I'll wake you when we get to Reykjavik.”

“I've always wanted to go there,” she huffed. “But not like this.”

He ignored her, flicking another switch.

She sighed, trying to get herself more comfortable, which was nearly impossible in the back of a tiny aeroplane that was meant to seat four people at most.

Miranda closed her eyes. She knew she might as well try to sleep. This man hadn't killed her yet, and it wasn't likely he would while flying a plane.

She hoped.

 


	3. Chapter 3

When she woke next, it was to Bucky cutting the rope that bound her wrists together. First of all, she was surprised to wake up altogether, but the fact that her kidnapper was releasing her was even more surprising.

“We're in Reykjavik,” he told her. “Fuel stop. I figured you might want to use the washroom.”

Yes, she would like that.

“Don't run,” he warned her. “I'm not... I won't hurt you, but I need you to come with me.”

She looked him in the eye. “Where? Why? What is it about me that's so important? Why did you come to my flat?”

He looked away from her. “New York,” he muttered. “I need to find... I have to apologize...”

She scrutinized him. He seemed genuinely distressed, and now that she could see him better, feverish.

Miranda hesitated before placing a hand to his forehead. He didn't break her arm, so that was nice. Despite the chill in the air, he was warm.

“Let me see,” she demanded.

He frowned at her.

“Your side. Let me see it.”

He sighed, but turned and lifted his layers of clothing. She peeled the bandage down. It was soaked through. The cut itself radiated heat and was swollen and painful looking.

“You need antibiotics,” she told him, replacing the bandage. She didn't have any other options, unless the man had grabbed her first aid kit when he knocked her out. She doubted it.

“I'll be fine,” he dismissed.

“You have a fever. You're not fine.”

“I will be.” Instead of saying anything further, he pulled her out of the back of the aeroplane, locking one arm, the metal one, around her. He dragged her across the snow covered ground towards a nearby building that must have been the airport.

It would have been nice if she was better dressed for the weather. She was still wearing her work clothes, which included a long sleeved shirt, but nothing else to keep her warm.

 

She was thankful for the warmth of the airport, even if it did involve Bucky still mostly dragging her alongside him.

He stopped outside a women's washroom.

Miranda looked at him. “I'll be okay on my own.”

He nodded. “Don't run,” he warned again.

She swallowed hard, but nodded. Miranda suspected that there wasn't anywhere on this island she could run to that he couldn't find her.

 

Bucky stood outside the door as she slipped in, and she really hoped he wouldn't stand there the entire time. It would be suspicious.

 

She used the toilet and then washed her hands, looking at herself in the mirror. She looked awful. She supposed a head injury and sleeping curled up in a ball would do that to you.

She tilted her head to get a better sense of the injury. There was no blood, but there was a large bruise mostly covered by her hair on her right temple.

She splashed water on her face and took a moment alone to check her pockets to see if she had anything of worth.

Gloves, the used ones from when she'd cleaned Bucky's wound in her kitchen. Caps from needles. Assorted change. Nothing useful.

She'd dropped her mobile, of course. She wondered what Ron would think of that. She wondered what Ron would think of the whole thing. Her discarded phone on the floor, signs that she'd treated someone, and most worrying of all, her absence.

Well, that was if Bucky had left the mess behind. He could have grabbed her mobile and the discarded supplies. That would leave Ron with less evidence. But if her phone had scared Bucky, like he said, then he probably wasn't thinking clearly at the time. It was probably some sort of trauma induced reaction.

 

Speaking of, she'd probably been too long. He would soon come barging into the loo, arm whirring, ready to punch something. She put the assorted items back into her pockets. They could be useful later on.

 

She paused at the sanitary napkin machine on her way out. Pads were highly effective for bandaging wounds. The only real question was if the machine would accept her money.

50KR. She had no clue what that was. She examined the change from her pocket. She chose a 10p coin and stuck it in the machine. Surprisingly enough, it worked. She tucked the pad into her pocket and exited the room.

Bucky was still waiting for her, although if he'd used the washroom in her absence was another question entirely. His face seemed less flushed, so she assumed he'd splashed some water on his face to try and relieve his symptoms. It wouldn't last long though.

He wrapped his arm around her again.

“Time to go,” he muttered.

She didn't try to protest, just let him pull her along.

 

By the time they got back to the plane, it had been refuelled. Bucky pushed her into the back, but didn't tie her up again. He got into the front.

“I'd like to change your bandage.”

He turned his head slightly.

“Come on. Lift your shirt.”

He contorted in his seat, but obeyed, lifting his shirt. He'd removed the bandage and rinsed the wound, probably in the washroom while she was trying to figure out Icelandic currency.

He didn't say anything as she unwrapped the pad, but did watch with interest as she stuck it to his back, flipping the wings over to hold it to his skin. The sticky part would get caught on his shirt if she didn't put anything on top of it. She considered the contents of the small aircraft. There was a tie on the floor, and she grabbed it, wrapping it around Bucky's torso, covering up the sticky surface of the pad and securing it to Bucky's skin.

He hummed what she assumed were thanks at her, and replaced his shirt. He buckled himself in, gesturing for her to do the same.

 

He taxied the plane out to the runway, muttering into his headset. She curled herself up on the backseat. She was in this for a while, until whenever they landed again at least, and possibly further. He said that he needed her for something in New York, that he had to apologize.

 

Maybe it was Steve. He was in New York, probably. Maybe Bucky wanted to apologize for trying to kill him.

Which... Miranda didn't really know why Bucky was trying to kill him.

 

She watched the ground fall away as the tiny plane gained altitude.

 

“Why did you try to kill him? Captain America.”

Bucky tensed.

“I mean, that's who you want to apologize to, right? That's why we're going to New York.” She continued without waiting for him to reply, mostly because she knew he wouldn't. “So it begs the question, why were you trying to kill him?”

She fell silent then. Bucky seemed to need a while to gather his thoughts before speaking.

“He was my mission,” he said, so soft that she almost missed it with the sound of the engines. “He was my mission,” he repeated, sounding more sure of himself. “I was supposed to kill him. But he made me... remember. Til the end of the line.”

Miranda leaned forward to better hear.

“He told me that he was my friend. He fell into the water, and I just... I just watched. And then I went in after him. I pulled him out, made sure he was alive. But I left him there. He could have died.”

“He didn't. He's okay.” Miranda knew that, she'd seen it on the news, Captain America giving an interview nearly a week after the incident. Whatever injuries he'd had were healed by that point.

Bucky nodded. “But I still shot him. More than once. And punched him over and over.”

 

Miranda inhaled sharply. She couldn't help herself. She knew Bucky noticed, but didn't respond.

“And now I have to apologize. Because... that wasn't me. I haven't been me. For a long time. They... did things to me. Made me do things. They hurt me and took parts of me away and made me into... a weapon.” He shook his head. “I don't remember half of it. Just the cold. And the pain. But it's finally getting... clearer. I'm figuring out who I am again.”

Miranda sat back in her seat. That... went a long way to explaining. Bucky wasn't looking for a hostage. He wasn't looking to hurt anyone. He wanted redemption. Forgiveness. And she knew for a fact that Steve Rogers would provide it.

 

(She wasn't completely clueless about his history with Steve. How they were best friends during the war. How Bucky had died. Steve had told her the story, in bits and pieces, and she'd picked some things up during her time living with the Avengers. So to know that this was the same man who rescued Steve from back alley fights when he barely weighed anything at all, the same man who Steve stormed a Hydra base to rescue with no proof of life whatsoever, she was hopeful that everything would be alright. This man wasn't some sort of monster, but a very damaged human being. It would probably take a long time, and loads of therapy, but in the end, she was hopeful.)

 

She tucked her legs back under her, and settled in for the flight. She didn't know where they would be landing next, although she suspected there would be another stop before New York for fuel.


	4. Chapter 4

She must have fallen asleep again (how she didn't know, she felt like all she'd been doing was sleeping) because when she opened her eyes next they were no longer moving, and Bucky was staring at her. Which was probably why she woke up.

She stretched her arms as much as she could inside the tiny plane.

“Where are we now?”

“Canada. Newfoundland.”

She hummed. “I've always wanted to visit the East coast. I suppose flying over it is pretty much the same thing.”

Bucky nearly cracked a smile at that. She counted it as a win.

“Come on,” he beckoned, and she hopped out of the plane to follow him into the small building that probably acted as the hangar.

 

He apparently sensed that something had changed between them. He wasn't as tense, and he'd started to speak more. He was still flushed and sweating, and like she suspected, the infection was only getting worse.

“We need to eat something. You need to drink. And I should change the dressing again, if we can find something.”

Bucky hummed. “Small town. People talk.”

She shrugged. “I can run into a store. I'm certainly less noticeable than you. You know. With the hair and the arm.”

He considered her, then nodded.

“One condition. You have to let me call my husband. He'll be worried sick, and the last thing you need is police looking for me.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“You can listen to the call. I just want him to know that I'm okay. That I'm safe.”

“Are you?”

“I'd like to think so.”

He examined her another moment before reaching into one of his many pockets and pulling out her mobile. He handed it to her with some hesitance.

“Keep it short,” he warned.

She nodded. “Of course.”

 

She turned it on and unlocked it. Nine messages, all from Ron. Three missed calls. She didn't bother to check them, just dialled him. It warned her about long distance charges, and she ignored them.

Ron picked up on the second ring.

“Honey?” he breathed.

Her eyes teared up a bit. “Yeah, it's me.”

“Where are you? I was so worried that something had happened. I found used first aid supplies in the kitchen, but you weren't there.”

“Yeah, I patched someone up. Listen, I'm going to be out of town for a few days. I'm fine, but it was unexpected. You know, Avengers stuff. I'm sorry I can't tell you more, but I am alright.”

“Classified?” he sighed.

“Yeah,” she smiled. “Listen, I have to go. I love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

 

She handed the phone back to Bucky, who tucked it away in one of his pockets again.

“Alright?” she asked him.

He nodded.

She wiped at her eyes. “Thank you.”

He didn't respond.

“I'll get... food, I guess. And some gauze or something for your back. Drinks. Oh damn. I don't have any Canadian money.”

He reached into another pocket and pulled out a wallet. He leafed through for a minute before handing her some bills.

“The town is a few minutes from here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And how do you propose we get there? Drive the aeroplane down the road?”

He smirked, but shook his head. “Wait here.”

 

She watched as he left the building and went to speak with one of the men outside. He gestured to a nearby vehicle. He handed the other man some bills, and accepted car keys.

Bucky waved at her to come out.

The air was cool, but not as cold as it was in Iceland. She still wished she had a jacket or something to wear.

 

They both got in the car, and Bucky put it into gear and pulled out onto a small road.

“What did you do?”

“Rented his car for an hour.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And he just let you?”

He shrugged. “He has the plane.”

“And I'm guessing the plane is more valuable than his car, if we don't come back.”

Bucky nodded.

 

The ride wasn't long, and the road was dotted with scattered houses. It was hard to tell when they made it into town, because it was still as sparsely populated. Bucky pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store, and turned to her.

“Is there anything you want?” she asked him.

He shook his head.

“Don't be long. We have to leave soon.”

She nodded. “I'll just be in and out.”

 

Miranda left the car, on her own for the first time since the mysterious man appeared in her flat.

 

The store was small, but crammed with everything a small town would need.

 

She first stopped in the clothes section, figuring anything would be better than her work uniform. She grabbed a jumper, and moved on the health care section. The variety there wasn't very good, and she finally just grabbed the largest plasters she could find.

Drinks were easier, and she grabbed a few of the energy drinks. She figured they were similar to Lucozade, or whatever the Canadian equivalent was.

By then her arms were starting to get full, and she wished she'd gotten a trolley. She tossed the clothing over her shoulder, and wrapped her arms tighter around the items she'd gotten. She still had to pick up food for them, something easy to eat, but with a large amount of energy. Bucky would need it if he was to recover.

 

She grabbed a box of cereal bars, the ones with the highest calorie count, and some dried fruit.

After considering for a moment, she headed back to the health section to look for paracetamol. She didn't find it, but she did find ibuprofen, which she knew was similar. (Apparently pharmacology did come in handy, on occasion. That didn't mean she enjoyed it though.)

 

With her arms fairly bursting, she deposited the items on the checkout counter. The cashier looked at her warily. In such a small town, surely he knew every single one of the residents, and that she wasn't one. And it was hardly tourist season. Well, she assumed. She had no clue when tourist season was for this town.

 

The man began scanning the items. She wasn't sure how much she would end up paying, since Canadian money was different from what she was used to. Although with her time spent in America, she'd picked up some thing. Surely it couldn't be too different.

“$64.70,” the man told her. “Would you like bags?”

She nodded, examining the bills that Bucky had given her. She picked out a red one, a purple one, and a blue one. Canadian money was certainly nicer looking than American, which was all the same colour.

The man handed her back two coins, and she tucked them in her pocket.

“Have a nice day,” he added, handing her the bags.

“Thank you,” she told him, taking care to hide any traces of her accent.

 

Bucky was waiting in the vehicle, which was still running.

She climbed back in. “Got some snacks, drinks, first aid supplies. And a new shirt for me, because this one is...” she shrugged.

She grabbed one of the energy drinks out of the bag and handed it to him.

“Drink all of it,” she ordered. “You're no doubt dehydrated from all the sweating you've done.”

He glared at her, but cracked the cap and obeyed.

“Also,” she continued, fighting with the child proof cap on the meds, “Take these.” She handed him two pills.

He grabbed the container from her and shook out two more. He downed all four at once, washing them down with a large gulp.

“Okay... I wouldn't have advised that, but I guess you know yourself best.”

He shook his head slightly, and she almost missed it. But she didn't want to ask.

 

He put the car in gear, and she put her seatbelt back on. He waited for her to do so before backing out of the parking lot and turning onto the road again.

 

“I got plasters,” she told him. “For your side. I can put them on when we get back to the airport.”

Bucky shrugged.

“Okay,” she muttered. She took the shirt out of the bag and yanked the tags off it. She tried to pull it over her head without undoing her seatbelt, and nearly was trapped forever. A helpful hand tugged the shirt down so her head could pop out.

Bucky didn't even look at her, just stared straight ahead at the road.

“Thank you.”

He didn't acknowledge that she'd said anything, but it was probably for the best.

 

They made it back to the airport. While Bucky gave the man's keys back, Miranda busied herself with opening the box of plasters. She estimated that at least four would be needed to cover the length of Bucky's wound. She did question whether it was better to leave it open, or cover it up. She certainly wasn't a doctor by any means, and this was more of a doctor sort of thing.

If she'd had her phone, she could have at least looked it up. Oh. Or not, because roaming. She could only imagine the charges for that.

 

Bucky came back in while she was pondering that.

She beckoned him over.

“How's it feeling?” she asked, nudging his shirt up. He took the hint and held it.

He only shrugged.

“You're not very helpful,” she told him. The old tie was still holding the pad in place. She untied it, and peeled it away from his skin. It was stained yellow with pus, and tinged with hints of red. It had been bleeding again it seemed.

“And you're definitely hurting,” she added. “Come on, I want to rinse this out again before I cover it.”

 

She led him into a family washroom and wet some paper towels. He hissed as she dabbed at his side.

“The infection is only getting worse, and the drugs I gave you won't help with it. The only thing they'll do is help with the fever, and might dull the pain a bit. They're by no means a cure.”

He didn't say anything as she continued dabbing at his cut. When it was relatively clean, albeit oozing some blood from one spot, she covered it with the plasters. They would be awfully painful to remove, but she hoped by then, they would be somewhere that she could help him. Like in the Avengers medical wing.

 

“There,” she told him.

He left the room, leaving her to clean up the supplies and wrappings, and to grab the bags of their purchases. She needed to get him to eat something. He seemed like the kind of person who would eat if food was put in front of him.

And god, that was kind of a horrible thought. Whatever those people had done to him- for years it sounded like- had changed him from an autonomous human being to some sort of... machine. A weapon. She shuddered thinking about it.

 

He'd already left for the aeroplane by the time she finished cleaning up. She sighed, but started jogging to catch up with him.

She figured by now she could probably sit in the front with him, but didn't want to impose, or accidentally touch something, so she sat herself in the back again.

She tossed a cereal bar at him.

“Eat,” she ordered.

He glanced sideways at her, but obeyed, the wrapper crinkling as he opened it. She hadn't even looked at what kind they were, but there was a distinctive smell of peanut butter. She really hoped he wasn't allergic.

 

But then, he said that they'd done things to him. She wondered if that extended to things like gene therapy, or perhaps something like what Steve had. The perfect weapon, his mind blank, his body in peak physical condition.

 

She pushed the thought out of her mind, and ate one of the bars herself before tossing another one at Bucky. He caught it that time.


	5. Chapter 5

She didn't sleep during the flight from wherever they were in Newfoundland to New York. It was fascinating to watch the land pass beneath them. Most things were too tiny to make out, but it was wonderful all the same. She had no clue what time it was, and the time zone changes no doubt added to her confusion, but by the time they began their descent, the sun was rising.

 

It had been a couple of hours since Bucky had taken the medication, and his fever was returning. He was flushed and sweating. Miranda also realized she had no clue the last time he'd slept, which was concerning, considering he was flying the plane.

 

If he noticed that she was more tense for the descent, he didn't comment.

 

She knew it would be tougher to get past security in America, especially considering she didn't have a passport.

Which really made her wonder how they'd gotten so far. She suspected that their acquisition of a plane in London hadn't been so by the book. She was definitely a criminal now. Or at least a hostage with Stockholm syndrome. If it came down to it, she could probably argue that in court.

 

Apparently she needn't have worried so much, since Bucky just sort of shuffled her into the terminal along with a group of people just come off a passenger jet. They were out front and hailing a cab before she knew what had happened.

 

Bucky was fading fast by then, his legs about ready to give out on him.

“Drink,” she ordered him, shoving another energy drink into his hands. He was leaning on her, but it must have been only slightly, because she wasn't crushed. Heat radiated from him.

 

He fumbled with the cap, but got it open by the time a cab pulled up in front of them. She shoved him in, running around to the other side to get in herself. She made sure he was belted in and everything. Heaven forbid they make it this far, only to die in a traffic accident.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“Avengers Tower, please.”

He frowned at her. “Is that guy alright?”

She glanced over at Bucky. His face was pale, and his eyes had closed. He was still sweating.

“He doesn't like flying.”

The man shrugged, and pulled out onto the streets.

 

Bucky hadn't drank much, but she didn't want to be the one to try and wake him to get him to take more. There was no telling how he'd react if he woke in an unfamiliar situation. Violently, probably.

 

She knew she'd need money to pay the driver, so she carefully dug in Bucky's pocket for the wallet she'd seen. Next to it was her mobile.

 

She took them both, sending a text to Ron letting him know she was still okay, and dug through the wallet to find the American money.

He had bills in most of the major currencies- Canadian dollars, American dollars, pounds, rupees, yen. He also had identification from a bunch of countries, all with different names. She wondered if he'd gotten those before or after everything that had gone down with Steve in DC. She assumed that was the point he'd escaped, when the world was sent reeling. It would have been hard to find a single man when the sky had come crashing down and an entire intelligence agency was destroyed. That had been months ago. What had Bucky been up to since then?

 

Not cutting his hair, clearly.

 

Traffic was alright for New York, and they made good time on the way to the Tower. As they approached, and she could see it above them out the window, she wondered just how exactly she was supposed to get Bucky out of the cab and into the building, not to mention how she was supposed to explain their appearance.

Well, mostly Bucky's.

 

Perhaps she should have called ahead.

 

It was too late for that though, so she passed the driver a handful of bills and told him to keep the change.

Just to get Bucky out then. There was no chance she could carry him. None at all. She poked him.

“Come on, get up. We're here.”

Bucky didn't so much as stir.

“Come on, you've got to apologize, remember?”

Again, nothing. She was going to have to try more drastic measures.

“Report soldier!” she barked. That got his attention, perhaps too much, but he sat upright, eyes open and still bleary. It was clearly an order he'd been programmed to respond to. Like a machine. She nearly shuddered at the thought.

“I'm sorry. Everything's fine. But we're here. I need you to get up now.”

He nodded.

 

She opened the door and got out, and Bucky scooted across the seat.

“Come on,” she urged, holding a hand out.

He grabbed it with his metal hand, and she prayed that he didn't crush it.

She tugged him to his feet, and he staggered under his own weight.

She slammed the door shut behind them, and hoped that the man didn't call the cops. Really, there was nothing odd about this. Just a guy who really hated flying, and now had to be carried into the place where all the Avengers lived. No big deal.

 

She dragged him through the lobby, where a familiar face was working. Jillian had been very helpful when Miranda first moved to New York, helping her figure out the underground, the buses, and pretty much everything. Jillian looked up from her desk and gaped at Miranda.

“Miranda, is that you? It's been so long!”

She waved back. “I'll catch up later. Gotta get this guy to medical.”

Jillian waved back, grinning.

 

She pressed the button for the lift and dragged Bucky in.

“Jarvis, take me to the Avengers.”

“Of course. Which one? They are currently scattered.”

“Someone who can lift this guy,” she sighed. Bucky was all but on the floor now, his legs having given up.

“Understood.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Jarvis took her to the common floor, where Tony and Thor were both lounging in the kitchen.

They both looked up as Jarvis announced her arrival, and she took a few steps out, before Bucky fell onto the floor completely.

Tony gaped. “Miranda, what are you doing here?”

She waved a hand at them. “Long story, no time to explain. Help me get him to medical?” She pointed to Bucky, now sprawled entirely on the floor.

Thor nodded, stepping over to them.

“I am happy to be of help.”

Thor lifted Bucky into his arms and carried him to the lift.

“Wait a second,” Tony began. “Isn't that... you know, robocop or whatever, the guy who shot Cap like, five times?”

Miranda ignored him, squeezing into the lift next to Thor.

“Sorry, no room, take the next one,” she instructed, pressing the door close button repeatedly.

Thor glanced down at the man in his arms. “Is this indeed the man who shot the Captain?”

“Sort of. It's a long story. He wasn't himself.”

Thor nodded. “Another time perhaps. Is he why you are back in our realm?”

She laughed. “Something like that.”

 

They arrived on the medical floor, and Thor stepped out of the lift.

The floor apparently hadn't seen much use since she'd left, the team either going elsewhere for medical attention or perhaps ignoring their issues altogether. (That one was more likely.)

Thankfully, everything was still clean, and the lights still worked.

“Just set him on the bed, thank you Thor.”

He bowed to her. “I look forward to hearing of your adventures since our last meeting.”

She grinned. “So do I.”

He took his leave, and she was left alone with the unconscious man.

 

First things first, she stripped his shirt off. Well, shirts. He was still wearing his jacket, the long sleeved shirt under that, and an under-vest underneath.

As she attached leads to his chest, she got her first real look at his metal arm. The shoulder where it was attached was heavily scarred, like the prosthesis hadn't taken, or multiple surgeries had been required. The limb also seemed to be deeply embedded in the tissue, which she supposed made sense if his body was to support the weight of a metal limb. But still, that meant he couldn't remove it. Ever.

 

With Bucky attached to the monitoring equipment, she attempted to roll him onto his side. Even with the metal arm weighing that side down, she couldn't budge him. She sighed. Tony would no doubt have followed them up in a later lift, and should be arriving any minute now to pester her. She'd just have to put him to work.

 

She put oxygen on Bucky, and set about inserting an IV until Tony arrived, and sure enough, as soon as she had a bag of saline running, Tony arrived, mouth already open to begin berating her.

“Don't,” she warned. “I need you to help me roll him so I can get at his side.”

Tony glared at her, but shut his mouth for the time being and obeyed.

 

With both of their combined strength, they managed to roll him enough that Miranda could get at the wound.

She was thankful that Bucky was unconscious for the removal of the plasters, since she knew it would have hurt.

 

It wasn't looking worse than before, but it also wasn't better. She didn't expect it to be, although she certainly hoped.

 

She swabbed the wound out, and placed the sample in a tube to be sent off for testing. She ignored Tony gagging in the background.

“Now that SHIELD is mostly gone, who do you send bloodwork to?” she asked him.

“Umm...”

She rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, you just don't?”

Tony hummed at her.

She huffed. “I suggest you find someone to send this culture to, unless you feel like growing it in the lab on your own.” She handed him the sealed tube with the sample.

Tony held it delicately with two fingers. “Ew,” he retorted.

“That's what I thought.”

“I'll just go buy some lab or something,” he muttered, wandering off.

“I need those results right away!” she shouted after him.

Tony waved a hand at her and disappeared.

 

She pushed antipyretics and a sedative to help Bucky sleep, and sat herself down at the nearest computer to research the best broad spectrum antibiotic for infections of the sort that Bucky had.

 

After a few minutes of research, she realized it might have been better to start with the antibiotics she had available to her.

 

A quick survey of the medical floor left her with expired penicillin, ceftriaxone, azithromycin pills, ancef pills, erythromycin pills, and cefazolin. She immediately discarded expired or oral antibiotics, since Bucky wouldn't be able to take them easily, and examined her remaining options. They were both the same drug class, just different generations.

She decided on the ceftriaxone and injected the first dose, with the second one to go 12 hours later.

 

With that done, she cleaned the wound yet again, and dressed it with special bandages that were supposed to help infections clear up. She wasn't sure if she bought it, but she was tired and it had been a long day. Couple of days? She really didn't know.

Miranda checked his vital signs again before collapsing into a chair. God, she was tired.

And she still had so much shit to do. Call Ron again, let him know that she way alright, where she was. She also had to make sure that Tony was actually getting the sample cultured. Order some supplies for the medical wing.

Talk to Steve. And everyone else. But mostly Steve.

 

She sighed.

“Jarvis, can you send Tony up here? Like, stat.”

“Of course. Welcome back.”

She smiled.

“Thanks Jarvis.”

 

Tony arrived in nearly record time.

“Okay, here's what I need. Did you send the sample to be cultured?”

He nodded.

“Great. Let me know when they have preliminary results. Second, I need a tablet with a live feed of this room, and of his vitals. I assume you can do that.”

He scoffed. “Of course I can. Honestly woman, do you remember nothing about me?”

Miranda raised an eyebrow, but continued. “And I need a team meeting, asap.”

Tony nodded, eyes on his tablet, fingers flying across it. “Just so you know, our team has changed a bit since the last time you were here.”

“Nothing ever stays the same, does it?” she sighed.

Tony thrust the tablet at her. The screen displayed Bucky's vitals, as well as a live stream of the feed from the cameras. She waved at herself.

“That's good. Okay, where will they meet?”

“Um, common floor probably? Living room. I'll send out a text now.”

Tony whipped his mobile out and his fingers danced across the screen.

“Okay, they should be there in five.”

“Thank you Tony,” she told him. “Really. Thank you.”

He grinned at her. “Well, for someone who's saved my life twice, it's the least I can do.”

“More then twice,” she corrected.

He made a face at her and waved a hand. “Semantics.”

She smirked at him. “I'll be down in a minute. And Tony? Don't tell them who it is, okay. Especially Steve. I need to break it to him gently.”

He nodded, something in his eyes softening.

 

He left, and she spent a few more minutes just checking over Bucky again. He'd crashed hard, and she just wanted to ensure that he'd be alright. But his vitals were stable, if a bit off, and the antibiotics were running. She'd be able to see everything on the tablet, and Jarvis would alert her if something went wrong. He would be fine.

 

Miranda realized she was worried about him. Not just as a patient, because she was concerned about all her patients, such was the nature of the job. She worried about him as a person. As a... friend, even.

 

Definitely Stockholm syndrome.

She shook her head, and pressed the button for the lift.


	7. Chapter 7

Some of the team was gathered already, and some hadn't arrived yet.

Clint, Natasha, and Tony were there, and when Clint saw her, he gaped.

_Miss me?_ She asked him in sign.

Clint beamed at her. “Of course I did. Nice to know you've kept learning.”

“Oh, I certainly have. Of course, now it's a matter of trying to keep ASL and BSL straight in my head. They get all mixed up.”

Clint nodded sympathetically. “I know that feel. I know like, five different sign languages, and like, three spoken languages. My head is a mess.”

“It was a mess before,” Natasha butted in.

Tony smirked, and Natasha swatted him on the head. “Only I get to say things like that.”

“I didn't say anything,” Tony protested.

Natasha ignored him and turned her attention back to Miranda. “It's good to see you,” she smiled.

 

Thor and Steve arrived then, Steve's eyes wide as he took in the sight. It was kind of nice to be missed.

 

(Of course, the thing about being missed is that people move on. They have to. They don't spend the rest of their life mourning your absence. They can't. That's how super villains are made. Maybe.)

 

Following them came a woman who Miranda didn't recognize, and a black man that she'd seen on the news footage from the DC incident. His codename had something to do with birds. Could one team have two bird codenames? Was there superhero etiquette to do with that?

 

Tony's friend that she'd met at the Christmas party walked in next. What was his name? Streets? Roads? Rhodey. Well, that was his nickname. Probably something similar to his name.

 

“Miranda,” Steve greeted. “It's good to see you again. We've got some new members of our team. This is Sam, and this is Wanda. We also have Vision, who is an android, but he's... out.”

 

She waved at both of them. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

 

As Wanda and Miranda looked at each other, Wanda's eyes widened.

“You've seen so much,” she whispered.

“Oh. What?”

“I'm sorry,” she apologized. Her words were tinged with an accent, although Miranda couldn't place it. “Your thoughts are very bright, and I couldn't help it.”

Miranda frowned. The girl clearly had some sort of superpowers.

 

Sam waved back.

 

“Is this everyone?” she asked Steve. “Wait, where's Bruce?”

Steve's face hardened. “Also out. This is everyone who's here. Go ahead.”

 

Making a mental note to look into Bruce's location, she stood up to address the small crowd.

“Okay, I just wanted to let everyone know that I would be visiting for a while, and that I've also brought a guest who is rather sick. I'd prefer if he wasn't disturbed. As in- don't. Tony, the medical floor is seriously lacking in some areas, so if I send you a supply list, will you be able to get some things?”

He scoffed at her. “Of course.”

She smiled. “Just checking. Okay, that's it. Except for Steve, I'd like to talk to you.”

 

The Avengers, old and new, filed out, leaving only Captain America himself.

“Hello Miranda,” he greeted, wrapping her in a hug.

“Hey Steve. I've got someone for you to meet. I mean, you sort of know him, but...” she trailed off, shrugging.

They got in the lift together, and she turned to him. “You need to promise me that you won't do anything... extreme, alright?”

He frowned, obviously confused. “What would I possibly do?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. But I'd still like you to promise.”

“Of course.”

They reached the medical floor, but the lift doors didn't open. Instead, she handed Steve the tablet. Bucky could clearly be seen lying in the bed. He hadn't moved, but his vitals were stable.

 

Steve dropped the tablet immediately. Miranda was kind of surprised it didn't break until she remembered that it was Stark Tech, and therefore pretty much indestructible.

Probably for times like this, she reflected, looking back at Steve's shocked expression.

“He's here? In the Tower? How?...”

Miranda shrugged. “He found me in London. Apparently he'd somehow heard that I fixed people. And then we ended up on a plane to here. He wanted to apologize to you.”

Steve knelt down to the tablet, but didn't pick it up. “Is he okay?”

“He has a pretty bad infected wound, but he's on antibiotics now. I'm fairly certain he'll be alright. He's strong.”

Steve nodded. “That he is,” he said softly.

“I can let you see him now, if you still promise not to do anything extreme.”

“Of course,” Steve told her. “I would never...”

She nodded to the camera in the lift, and Jarvis released the doors.

Steve left the discarded tablet on the floor and practically ran for Bucky's bed. Miranda collected the tablet, watching the scene on the screen. She figured they could use a few minutes alone, as long as Bucky was doing fine.

 

Steve nearly collapsed into the chair at Bucky's bedside, and he carefully took Bucky's hand. He pressed it to his cheek.

 

She didn't want to intrude, but she realized she did need to send Tony a list of medical supplies, so he could order them as soon as possible.

Miranda brushed by Steve and headed to the main supply closet to do an inventory and make a list. It would keep her busy for a while. She just hoped she didn't fall asleep in the darkness of the small room.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

It took her nearly an hour to make notes of everything she needed, but that did include the drugs as well. She sent the list off to Tony, and headed back to check on Bucky in person.

 

Steve was still sitting at his bedside, still holding his hand. He looked up as she approached.

“No change,” he sighed.

She nodded. “I didn't expect there to be. He needs rest.”

Steve nodded, and was quiet for a moment before speaking again.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“Sure. But we should do it outside. I don't want to disturb him.”

He trailed after her out into the hall, and stared at Bucky through the glass. After a moment, he spoke.

“How did this happen? How did you find him? How did you get him to come here?”

She shook her head. “I didn't. It was his idea. He found me in London. He needed patching up. And then he... convinced me to come with him to New York. He wanted to see you,” she told Steve. “Apologize to you.”

“He remembers me?”

Miranda shook her head. “Not... really? Sort of. He knows what you said to him that day, and knows that he knew you, but there's not much else. He said that... they did things to him. Whoever they are.”

“Hydra,” Steve responded, his eyes icy. “Under Alexander Pierce.”

She shrugged. “He didn't tell me who. I don't think he knows. But he knows that he's been experimented on, forced to do things, for years.”

“Decades. He's been presumed dead since he fell from that train in 1945.”

Miranda frowned. “How is that even possible?”

“How am I possible? Cryosleep. They froze him when they didn't need him, then pulled him out when they needed him to point a gun,” Steve spat. “They erased his memories, everything that made him who he was. Weapons don't need memories or feelings.”

“How... how do you know all this?”

“I've been looking for him. Ever since DC. And Natasha found a file- old, Russian. We were using it. Found out some awful things.”

She nodded.

“But their... brainwashing, programming, whatever, didn't quite stick when they made me his mission. We were up on that helicarrier together. He was getting ready to end me. And then he just... stopped. And rescued me. They couldn't take away everything. Bucky saved me so many times, and he saved me once more, maybe without even knowing why. But he did.” Steve smiled sadly. “He's been off the grid since then. Some sightings in Shanghai, one in Munich. Even one in Canada, near Ottawa. But we've never been able to catch up with him. So thank you, Miranda, for bringing him home.”

She smiled at him. “Honestly, he was coming all on his own. I was just along for the ride.”

“Maybe,” Steve told her. “But you made sure that he made it. Without you he could have crashed his plane in the arctic, become a popsicle like me. And let me tell you, it's very overrated.”

She wrapped her arms around him on impulse. God, Steve was great to hug.

He hugged back after a second.

“This is just a warning though. So when you do talk to him, just know that he's not the same person. He can't be. You know that, right?”

Steve's head nodded above hers.

“I do.” His voice was muffled, and he was practically speaking into her hair.

“Okay,” she whispered.


	9. Chapter 9

She sent Steve off to bed after a while, as the day turned into night. She was exhausted herself, but she had a duty to her patient. Steve didn't.

Plus, she could always sleep in an empty bed. Steve likely wouldn't fit very well.

 

Making sure that Bucky was settled, and that the monitors would alert her if anything went wrong, she curled up in the bed next to him.

 

Miranda did fall asleep for a while, and woke suddenly. She didn't know why, until her eyes adjusted, and she saw the other set of eyes peering at her from the dim light of the monitors.

 

“You're awake,” she stated. “Lights to 30% please.” She didn't mention Jarvis by name in case it scared Bucky. Hell, it scared her the first week or so living there, and she wasn't a guy with PTSD and a bad case of memory loss.

 

The lights brightened just enough for her to see Bucky's face. He was looking a bit better, less pale, and the flush was mostly gone.

She checked the time. Nearly morning. Everyone would be getting up soon.

“You can have a second dose of antibiotics now,” she told him. “And antipyretics and painkillers, if you want them. How's the pain?”

He didn't reply as she injected the antibiotics. She did give him the antipyretic, because he had a slight fever, but she held off on the painkiller until he gave her permission. Or refused it. It was his choice.

“Bucky,” she said gently. “Painkiller, yes or no?”

He shook his head.

“Is the pain better then?”

He shrugged slightly, and she huffed at him. “A wealth of information, you are.”

 

She put the painkiller away, and checked his vitals again.

“How are you feeling, in general?” she asked. “In words please.”

 

“Empty,” he said after a long silence. She'd sat down, waiting for him to say something, like she knew he would, eventually.

And, okay. Not really a medical symptom, but she had asked him how he was feeling, and that was an answer.

“Any idea why?”

“I don't remember him,” he said flatly. “Not like I should. I know that I know him, but the memories... they're not there. I don't know how I can know I'm missing something when I can't remember it, but I do.”

“Like... knowing something is missing by the space it's supposed to take up?” she suggested.

He nodded. “Like that.”

She leaned forward. “No one expects you to remember. Not now, maybe not ever. And that's okay.”

“It's not,” Bucky insisted, gripping the sheet between his fists.

“I know it doesn't seem like it,” she admitted. “And no, things can never go back to the way they were before. It's just impossible.” She knew that far too well, thinking of a man who'd gone away for two years, only to hope that the world would be the same once he returned. “But you can move forward.”

Bucky made a non-committal noise and she assumed that was his way of ending the conversation.

 

She glanced back down at her tablet, taking note of his vital signs again. Heart rate was a bit high, which could have been from pain or anxiety.

“Does your arm hurt?” she asked. “I noticed that it's...”

“Scarred? Heavy? Irremovable?”

“All of them,” she admitted.

He nodded.

“Yeah, it hurts. But it's... background noise.”

“How is it attached? Do you know?”

Bucky turned away slightly and curled up. “I don't want to talk about it anymore,” he muttered.

She nodded. “That's alright. Do you mind me asking you a few things? Because I admit, I'm curious. How did you find me?”

Bucky shifted in the bed slightly. “All of SHIELD's files were released. I found yours. It wasn't hard to track you down after that.”

“So my file is... what, on the internet? For everyone to see?”

Bucky closed his eyes. “It's a personnel file. Not one of the interesting ones.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“I mean it's not a superhero or some sort of disaster. That's all people are interested in. Not a temporary medic who they had to search through thousands of files to find.”

“But you did.”

He shrugged slightly, still not bothering to open his eyes. “I'd read them all, looking for something else. And when I got hurt, I remembered you.”

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

“He always did have a talent for that,” Steve said behind her.

She spun in her chair. “When did you get there?”

He shrugged. “Not long ago. I heard he was awake.”

Miranda smiled. “Well, I'll leave you two alone to talk then. Call me if you need anything,” she told them, more to Bucky than to Steve.

 

She left them alone in the room, heading a floor down to lounge on a couch and go over some things.

“Hey, Jarvis, did you get a full body scan of Bucky?”

“Yes, I have compiled a three dimensional wire frame of Sergeant Barnes' body.”

“Awesome. And remind me to get x-rays later. I want to see how the arm connects to his body. It seems to be pretty heavily integrated into the surrounding tissue. But I'm thinking it may need to be altered in some way. It seems too heavy, and it's putting his entire body under unnecessary strain.”

“Noted.”

She glanced at the tablet screen. Bucky and Steve were talking. Well, Steve was doing most of the talking, but Bucky would chime in every once in a while, which was a good sign.

 

Next on her list was calling her husband. They'd been texting, but she hadn't really been able to say definitively when she'd be home yet. Now that she had a better idea, she could speak with him.

Checking the time difference, she dialed him on her mobile.

 

“Hey. How are you doing?”

“I'm good,” she assured him. “How are you holding up alone?”

“The food supplies are only going to last a couple more days. I'm not sure I'll make it after that.”

“That sounds awful. There is always takeaway though, if you're desperate.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” he told her. “So, where are you at? Or is that classified or something. You know I'm always going to be bitter that your clearance was so much higher than mine.”

She grinned. It had been a point of contention while they were living in New York, and they often bickered about it. “I'm in New York. At the Tower, actually.”

“Really? Okay. So when will you be home?”

“I should be able to come home in a week, maybe sooner.”

She could practically hear him frowning. “That's a while. Why so long?”

She sighed. “There's a guy, one of Steve's friends, he's in a bad state. I'm going to stay long enough to get him stabilized, or until they can find someone else to take over his care. But mentally, he's a mess. I'd say really bad PTSD, and I don't want him to freak out if I leave.”

“Okay, I get that. But how did you end up there in the first place?”

Miranda winced. That was the part she really didn't want to explain. “He... might have sort of kidnapped me?”

“What?” Ron shrieked.

“No, listen!” she insisted. “He came to our flat looking for medical treatment. He found my SHIELD file, cause it's floating around the web somewhere. And when you called, it freaked him out. He had some sort of flashback or something. And then we were on a plane. And then we ended up here.”

“How the hell did he get you on a plane?” Ron hissed. He was still angry, which was justified.

“He's a big guy, Ron.”

“Yeah, but how did no one notice? Weren't you screaming and yelling? I'd imagine that would be difficult to get through security.”

She winced again. “I wasn't conscious. He knocked me out and I woke up on the plane. I'm sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” he bellowed.

“Not telling you earlier. Lying when I called you from the airport in Canada.”

“He was standing next to you when you made the call, wasn't he?” Ron asked quietly.

“He never hurt me,” she told him in lieu of a response.

“He knocked you out and put you on an aeroplane! Against your will!”

“Ron, it's okay. I'm fine. He's getting better. Nothing happened.”

“But it could have,” he insisted.

“Yes, but I also could have gotten hit by a car and died if I'd stayed in London. You can't know anything.”

His silence was angry.

“I don't see how getting on a plane with some crazed veteran could possibly be considered safer than just living in London.”

“Well, it's kind of like your risk of dying from a shark attack versus your risk of drowning in a bath. One certainly sounds more terrifying, but it's actually like one in a million.”

“I hate when you're logical like that.”

She smiled. “I know darling.”

“Are you sure you're alright?”

“A little jetlagged, but yes, I'm just fine. Promise.”

He sighed. “That's good.”

 

She eyed the vitals on the tablet in front of her, which were edging upwards.

“Listen, Ron, I have to go. I'll call back as soon as I know when I'm coming home. I love you.”

She ended the call and turned her attention to the tablet displaying Bucky's vital signs.

 

“His heart rate is up,” she noted. “Jarvis, can I get an audio feed? I need to make sure he's not too upset.” Steve and Bucky were still talking, but Bucky had sat upright, and was glaring at Steve.

Jarvis obeyed, and the conversation she was watching soon developed sound.

 

“Bucky, it's okay. When it mattered, you remembered.”

“I didn't though. I had no idea why I couldn't kill you. I just... didn't.”

 

“Some things are too engrained,” Miranda whispered to herself. Like a man protecting his best friend. She muted their conversation again, feeling guilty for having listened to even that much.

 

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. It was not making for a very good day.

 


	10. Chapter 10

She wandered down to the communal kitchen after sending Ron a text with some cute emoticons. She knew that he was angry, not so much at her, just in general. But he also understood why she did the things she did. Ron knew that her patients came first, sometimes even to the point of stupidity.

 

Tony was there, making a sandwich. She was pretty surprised at that, since Tony rarely surfaced for food without prodding. Perhaps he'd gotten more responsible since she'd left. She doubted it, but it was always a possibility.

 

“Hey,” he greeted. “How's robocop?”

“Bucky? Better. He's conscious now, and Steve is with him. They're talking. I don't know how much he remembers, but he seems to be okay with it.” She glanced at her tablet again, just to make sure it was still going well.

Tony nodded, shoving a quarter of the sandwich in his mouth.

She took that opportunity to question him, when he wouldn't be able to retort with something clever and walk off.

“So, what happened after I left?” she asked Tony. She put some bread in the toaster and put the kettle on for tea.

He shrugged, and swallowed before answering. “We had another guy for a while, British like you. Rory. He was cool. His wife was kind of crazy, but also awesome. Then one day they just... completely disappeared. I think Fury was looking into it before SHIELD went to hell, but then it did, so the search didn't really turn up anything. We've been making do.” He took another bite out of his sandwich and set the rest down on the counter.

“Meaning you ignore when you're sick, don't get stitches when you should, and reset broken bones using things you make in the lab.”

Tony grinned. “Guilty as charged. Although not all of those were me,” he pointed out.

Miranda groaned. “I don't want to know. Do not tell me.”

Tony held his hands up in surrender, still grinning.

 

“So, Ultron?” she asked. Her toast popped up, and she pulled it out to apply jam.

Tony's face hardened. “I know what you're going to say. That it was stupid of me to do that, that it was dangerous and whatever, but I promise, I was only ever trying to help.”

She sighed. “I know Tony.”

“Really?”

“You're idealistic to the extreme. I know you pretend like you're not, because the world has hurt you so much, and if I was hurt anything like that, I don't know if I could get out of bed each morning, let alone be a superhero. So I understand that you're just trying to protect everyone, because it's a terrifying universe out there. Your intentions are always good, but your executions? Sometimes flawed,” she admitted. The kettle announced it was done, and she poured water into a mug to steep.

Tony stared at her. “I'm not idealistic,” he protested.

She glared at him. “Don't argue with me. You, the man who built everyone a floor in your Tower and continually gives so much of himself to others.”

“I have a lot of money,” he muttered.

“I'm not talking about money and you know it. I'm talking about how much you care. That Christmas, you told everyone that the guests wouldn't be getting presents, and you gave every single one of us, guests included, personalized tablets. You design tech for all of your teammates and give them things. And right now, you're allowing a man who shot two of your teammates to recover in your home. You're not asking for anything from him, you just let him stay. No questions.” She removed the teabag and nibbled at her toast.

“Some questions,” Tony corrected.

“Minimal questions,” Miranda amended.

Tony smiled. “Do you know who he is to me?” he continued. “What significance he holds in my life.”

She frowned. “No. What?”

“He killed my parents.”

“ _What?”_

From what she knew of Tony's parents, they'd died in a car accident. They hadn't been murdered.

Tony nodded. “It was one of his missions as the Winter Soldier. I found it after all the SHIELD files were released, and along with them, a lot of the Hydra missions. Apparently my father was becoming too much of a threat, so they dispatched the _Asset_ to take care of them. That's what they called him, you know. They didn't treat him like a person. He was just a weapon to them. A gun to point.”

Miranda shook her head. It all sounded horrific. “So you're not angry? You don't blame him.”

“I was angry for a long time,” he admitted. “Angry at them for dying. Angry about being left alone. And my dad, he wasn't that great, you know. In fact, he was shit at a lot of things. Genius, sure, but awful in the father department. But I was still angry that they were gone. But am I angry at Bucky? No. Like I said, it's not his fault. I doubt he even remembers it. He's certainly not to blame. I know a bit about being forced to do things that you don't want to do,” he admitted, and Miranda knows he's thinking back to a cave, a surgery without anaesthesia or his permission, and thinks that yes, Tony might understand Bucky pretty well.

She nodded, chewing on the last piece of her toast. “You should let him know.”

“About what? I don't want to tell him he killed my parents if he doesn't remember doing it, and that means I can't tell him that I don't blame him.”

“No, not about that. About the whole...” she gestured to his chest. “I hardly think that he was a willing participant to having a metal arm grafted to his skeleton. If that's what happened. I have to get x-rays still.”

Tony tilted his head, probably completely distracted from the topic they had been talking about, and instead focusing on Bucky's arm.

“So, will you talk to him?” she asked him.

“What? Oh, yeah, maybe.” He shrugged. “I don't want to bug him.”

“Steve will leave sometime, and he needs to be able to interact with others. Speaking of others, how'd you get new team members?”

Tony threw himself down on a stool, remembering the rest of his sandwich. He took a bite, and chewed before speaking.

“Well, Sam was sort of recruited by Steve. Apparently Steve just kept lapping the guy on their morning jogs in DC. Sam worked as a counsellor at the VA, and invited Steve to hang out sometime. Then after a bunch of the shit went down at SHIELD, they literally showed up at his door and he took them in like a couple of stray puppies.”

“They?”

“Yes, Steve and Natasha.”

“Right,” she nodded. She knew that Natasha had been involved, but her involvement hadn't been as public.

“So Sam just sort of follows him everywhere, like a duckling. It's adorable really. So he's on the team now, and he can fly, so that's nice.”

“What's his codename? I know it's something avian related.”

“Falcon.”

“Okay, and what about the girl?”

“Wanda. She's... interesting. I'm still not entirely sure about her,” he admitted. “The first time we met, she sort of messed with my mind and made me see the death of the whole team and the end of the world, so...” he shrugged.

“So she has powers?”

Tony nodded. “Mental manipulation and telekinesis. Maybe more. I don't think she's entirely sure yet about the extent of her powers.”

“How did she get them?”

Tony grimaced. “The spear. Loki's spear. There were... experiments, from what I understand. Her brother had them too, but his were different. I'm not sure how that worked, if they were supposed to get different powers, or the same ones, or if they knew what sort of powers they'd be getting... not like I had time to ask them about experimental design.”

“She has a brother?”

“Had. Twin brother, Pietro. He... died in Sokovia.”

“Oh god.”

Tony nodded. “It's been really hard for her, but she's become close with Vision. And for some reason, Clint seems to like her. And she likes him. Can't imagine why,” he added, rolling his eyes.

Miranda sighed at him. “Tony...”

He shrugged.

“So who is Vision? I still haven't met him yet. What's he like?”

“Well, he is an android that we made... sort of by accident? It wasn't entirely on purpose. He should be back tomorrow. He's gone out to sort of explore the world. I worry, but...” he shrugged again. “He's technically pretty young, like, we'd be counting his age in weeks rather than months or years, but he has all the intelligence of Jarvis, so...”

“Wow. And Rhodey?”

Tony shrugged. “He kept complaining about how he wasn't part of the team, so we let him.” He smirked.

“So. New team members. But no Bruce?”

Tony shook his head. “I hope that he'll be back soon, but I don't know.”

There was more he wasn't telling her, but she let it go for the time being.

 

Tony left shortly after, and she put her dishes in the sink to be cleaned. She really needed a nap before she did anything else.

 

The rooms were exactly the same as they'd been left. She would probably have found it unnerving if she hadn't been exhausted.

But honestly, nothing had been touched. Dusted, yes, maintained and cleaned, but nothing had been moved. Like it had been waiting for them to come back.

She collapsed into bed before she could consider the meaning of that.


	11. Chapter 11

She woke up around lunch, and went to check on Bucky. He was asleep, his vitals normal, and Steve wasn't at his bedside. Jarvis reported that he'd left shortly after Bucky had fallen asleep, and went to the gym to work out.

 

Bucky wasn't due for another dose of antibiotics for hours still, and she didn't have any genuine reason to check on him.

But she just felt she needed to.

So she popped her head in, took his pulse, and fixed the blanket that was covering him.

She dimmed the lights again before leaving.

 

Miranda wandered to the kitchen, realizing that she should probably eat again. Breakfast was a while ago and it wasn't like she'd been eating real meals in the last little while. Even before Bucky had shown up in her flat, it was mostly takeaway and vending machines. She and Ron had been on alternating shifts, which made things at home rough.

And Tony always kept the kitchens well stocked. Or Jarvis, rather.

 

It was Clint who turned out to be in the kitchen when she got there. She was kind of surprised. Clint usually didn't cook for himself, but one look at what he was eating, and she realized it only borderline counted as cooking. It was macaroni and cheese from a box.

“Hey,” he greeted. “How's... you know. Assassin guy.”

She frowned at him. “How do you know?”

He shrugged. “Steve told Nat. Nat told me. It's not like it's a big secret.”

Miranda hummed, opening the fridge to look through it. There wasn't really anything she found appealing.

“I'm not going to bother him,” Clint added. “Even if we do have some things we could talk about.”

Right. Clint and that whole thing with Loki.

“He might like to hear that someone else understands,” she told him.

Clint shrugged. “What am I supposed to tell him? 'Oh yeah, I totally get it because I was brainwashed for a few days, and I know that's not the same as decades, but let's pretend it is. And oh yeah, I wasn't completely out of it, because I still knew what I was doing, and might have done some things in ways that I knew would be less fatal.' You think he'd like to hear that?”

She tilted her head. “I didn't know that. That you had some measure of control.”

Clint shrugged. “I shot Fury in the chest instead of in the head. I knew he was wearing a bulletproof vest. But Loki... he told me, you know, like mentally, to shoot him somewhere fatal. The chest is fatal, most of the time. And when we attacked the helicarrier...” he shrugged. “I might have made some choices that wouldn't have been the best. They were good, yeah, but if I was me, entirely, I would have taken that helicarrier down with everyone on it.”

“You resisted,” Miranda clarified.

“I guess. Sort of. Not really. When you say it like that, it makes me think that I was actively resisting it, when I wasn't. I wasn't strong enough for that. It was more like I was being lazy, because I knew Loki didn't expect as much out of me.”

Miranda shook her head. “I don't think so. I think you're stronger than you give yourself credit for. I've never known you to be lazy about something that counts.”

Clint shrugged.

 

“You know, Bucky said that he couldn't kill Steve. That there was just something about him that made him stop. Steve told him that he was his friend. And Bucky just sort of... stopped. And not only that, but he jumped in after Steve and pulled him out. He was supposed to kill Steve, and instead, he ended up saving him.”

Clint nodded thoughtfully.

“There are some things that just can't be taken away,” he shrugged. “I guess for him it was Steve.”

Miranda nodded. “Yeah, I've realized that. It's one of the only things he remembers, you know. He doesn't know much about who he is, or what happened, but he realized that he couldn't kill Steve.”

“'I shall die here',” Clint quoted. “'Every inch of me shall perish. Every inch but one.' I guess you found that inch.”

She frowned. “That's familiar. What's it from?”

“What, you think I can't come up with clever things on my own?” he protested.

“I know that you're perfectly capable, but I've heard that before. A woman said it, right?”

He sighed. “V for Vendetta.”

Miranda nodded. “Fantastic movie.”

Clint groaned. “The best. Except for Brave of course.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

Clint shoved a forkful of macaroni in his mouth and beamed at her.

She sighed and opened the fridge again, hoping that something might have magically appeared. Who knew. In a house built by Tony, it could be possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gratuitous title reference. also one of my favourite movies.


	12. Chapter 12

She checked in on Bucky a few more times during the day. She spent more of her time talking to Sam, asking him about the best ways to help Bucky. She knew that what he needed was so far out of her scope of practice that she couldn't even begin to help him. She could patch him up, sure, but she couldn't really _help_ him.

 

Sam knew of a few therapists who specialized in PTSD, which he agreed Bucky likely had.

“Probably along with a lot of other issues,” he added. “Has he spoken to you much?” She knew that he didn't mean just words. He meant spoken about what happened.

She shrugged. “Most of what he told me he said on the plane. He said... that they did things to him. That Steve was his mission.”

Sam nodded. “I was around for that. I was with Steve in the hospital afterwards. He told me what had happened.”

“He said that they hurt him. And Steve told me that they froze him in between missions.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I've seen that file. Couldn't read any of it, but the pictures were bad enough.”

Miranda sighed. “When I asked how he felt, he said that he felt... empty. And sometimes I look at him and it's like he's hollow, like there's not a person inside.”

“I think that he's trying to figure out who he is. So he has to start with nothing, even if he doesn't know that's what he's doing.”

Miranda tilted her head and considered that. It did make sense.

She nodded. “So you think you know someone who can help?”

“Yeah, I'll give a couple people a call. If they're good with it, Bucky can decide who he wants to talk to.”

“Okay. Good. Thank you again.”

Sam grinned. “You did the hard work. Steve dragged me around the world looking for him, and here he just shows up with you. You're a miracle worker.”

“I'm really not.”

Sam shrugged. “If he mentions anything else, let me know.”

She nodded back. “Do you think he can recover from this? Heal?”

“I honestly don't know,” Sam admitted. “It sounds like he's been a prisoner of war for seventy years or so. Something like that has to change a guy. I have hope that he will heal to some degree, but he's never going to be the same person he was before.”

“I know that,” she said softly. “He knows it too.”

Sam nodded. “I'll call some of those therapists. See if they're willing to come and talk to him if he agrees to it.”

She smiled. “Thank you Sam.”

He grinned back at her. “No problem.”

 

**

 

When she went to give Bucky another dose of antibiotics that night, Steve wasn't there. He'd been there recently, and brought food if the empty dishes were anything to go by, but he'd left before she'd gotten there.

So she took that opportunity to ask Bucky about the imaging she wanted to get done. She checked the wound while she did, cleaning it out and putting a fresh dressing on. It was healing well, and the infection was lessening.

“Hey Bucky. I wanted to get x-rays of your chest, neck, and arms. Is that alright?”

He shrugged.

“Great. How are you feeling?”

He shrugged again.

“Better, worse, or the same?” she asked, giving him the same options she used with children.

He considered that. “Better,” he said finally.

She smiled. “That's good to hear. The antibiotics are definitely working, and the wound is looking a lot better. It should only be a few more days until you're good to go.”

He looked up at that. “Go?”

“Not stay in this room,” she corrected. “Leave medical.”

“Oh.”

 

She wasn't entirely sure what he did all day, but he hadn't left the medical wing. Jarvis reported that he'd get up to use the washroom and pace around the room, but nothing beyond that. He hadn't tried to leave the area either, which she found a bit surprising.

Tony had provided him with a tablet, with limited internet access, so he could look certain things up, but not things that might hurt him more than help. Miranda wasn't sure that was necessary, since the man had clearly been able to find her without much trouble. She hadn't even known that her file was floating around in cyberspace until he told her.

 

Apparently he read a lot. Fiction (he was partial to sci-fi Jarvis reported) as well as non-fiction (mainly history, but a lot of science and technology as well). He hadn't watched any television or movies, even with Netflix on the tablet, but perhaps he didn't know what it was. It was unlikely he would have come across it during his time not being frozen.

 

So he kept himself busy, but she worried about how restless he was getting.

 

“So,” she said finally. “Want to do those x-rays now?”

Bucky shrugged, but got out of the bed.

“I do need you to leave your blanket behind,” she told him.

He dropped it on the bed reluctantly and followed her to the imaging suite.


	13. Chapter 13

She gave Bucky his next dose of antibiotics late the next morning. She'd slept in, the time zones still messing with her schedule.

She got Bucky settled, Steve bringing him lunch and a book for him to read, before she headed down to Tony's lab with the imaging. Apparently he'd been waiting eagerly to see them, but couldn't access the files. Miranda was pleased there were some things that Tony couldn't do.

 

She gave Jarvis permission to display the films in Tony's lab, Tony practically bouncing on his heels with eagerness.

 

Seeing the chest x-ray for the first time, Miranda was horrified. The modifications to his arm extended to his shoulder, clavicles, ribs, and sternum, and maybe his spine. She couldn't tell from that angle. The bones had been reinforced with some sort of material, likely a metal alloy, to allow for the weight of the arm.

“Jesus. Well, I need to get a better look at it. More angles. I'm assuming an MRI is out of the question?”

“That would be a spectacularly bad idea,” Jarvis agreed.

Tony nodded as well. “It would be like putting me in an MRI machine, except ten times worse. Although it might not kill him.”

Miranda hummed. “He's healing faster than I expected him to. Steve said he's got some sort of healing factor. Apparently he got a version of the same serum Steve did.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, Cap was talking about it a while back, when he was still beating himself up over Bucky's apparent death. He was damn sure that he should have gone to look for him. Because anyone could have survived that fall,” he added, rolling his eyes.

He moved his hands in the air and brought up a hologram of the x-ray. He zoomed in on a certain part and squinted at it.

“Wow, is that... Nah, it can't be. When was this attached, the forties?”

Miranda shrugged. “Maybe. I haven't asked. It's not exactly a fun topic. It's likely been updated, no matter when it was attached.”

“Look at this,” Tony urged. “I think the arm is wired into his nervous system.”

“Well, yeah, I guess that would help with controlling it. It's not exactly a normal prosthesis.”

“No,” Tony insisted. “I think it's wired both ways.”

“You mean?...”

“Yeah. It's got sensory input.”

“Jesus,” she whispered. “Oh my god. I can't... that's got to be painful, right?”

Tony nodded, rubbing at his chest with one hand. He knew all too well about chronic pain. “Maybe not pain so much as it actually senses it, but it could interpret a lot of the signals it receives as pain. Who knows what sort of wiring and programming is wrapped up in there.”

“I'm going to go check on him,” Miranda decided, standing up. “Maybe check your theory. I hope you're wrong.”

“Me too,” Tony replied grimly.

 

She waited a moment for the lift, and once she was inside, leaned against the wall and sighed. Things were spiralling, becoming more and more complicated. Of course it couldn't be simple. Nothing ever seemed to be for her.

 

*

 

It seemed like they'd just finished eating their meal when she got there. Based on the smell, it had been some sort of pasta with sauce, maybe spaghetti.

“Hey,” she greeted.

Steve looked up and smiled. He was sketching something in his lap, and Bucky was flipping through a book.

“I looked at your films,” she told him.

Bucky didn't bother to look up. “Yeah.”

“Do you have sensory input from the arm?”

He shrugged. “Some stuff.”

Miranda pulled a chair over and sat next to Steve, who moved aside a bit for her.

“Okay, so how about pain. Can you sense pain?”

He nodded, finally looking up from the book. He still wasn't looking at her though. “It's usually pretty insensitive though. I don't feel little things. It has to be major.”

“Okay. What about temperature?”

He shrugged. “Maybe a little. Not a whole lot.”

“Okay. What about fine touch and course touch? Can you localize sensation if I was to, say, poke you with a pen?”

“Probably only on the hand. The rest of the arm isn't sensitive. I'd know you were touching me, but not where.”

She nodded again and made a note on her tablet. She hesitated before asking her next question. “Does it... hurt?”

Bucky looked back down at the book in his lap before answering quietly. “All the time.”

She nodded. “Okay. I'm going to go talk to Tony again, see what he can do. Thanks for telling me.”

Miranda got to her feet. Steve was looking at Bucky with concern, probably over the last thing he'd said, but Bucky was glaring right back.

“Don't start with me, Rogers. I knew you when you were barely 90 pounds soaking wet. You don't get to lecture me on hiding things.”

She left before Steve could start on a rant about how that was definitely different.

 


	14. Chapter 14

“It means it's not a prosthesis,” Tony sighed, rubbing his eyes and slouching over his tablet. “Or at least, not _just_ one. It's part of him. It's like an actual limb. Like, he may have dysphoria related to it because his brain recognizes it as fundamentally wrong, but it's actually wired into him. I wonder how they handled the rejection...” he mused.

“Tony, focus. Is there nothing we can do?”

Tony shrugged, looking up at her. “I could always open it up, take a look inside, but now that we know it has sensation, I don't want to hurt him. I also don't think he'd be a huge fan of sitting down and having me poke at him with sharp things.”

Miranda winced. “Probably not,” she agreed.

Tony sighed and rubbed his eyes again. “I wish Bruce was here. He's better at the mixing machinery with organic material. I'm better at the programming side of it, which doesn't exactly help for this.”

“Where exactly is he?” she asked. She'd spoken to some of the others, but they all either refused to talk about it, or gave vague answers that didn't help.

“We don't know,” Tony admitted. “After the thing with Ultron in Sokovia, he took off in a cloaked jet. We don't know where he ended up, or how he's doing. I'm still hoping that he just decided it was time for an extended vacation, and is sitting on a beach somewhere sipping a cocktail.”

Miranda smiled. “Me too.”

 

**

 

When she went to give Bucky another dose of antibiotics that night, he was dressed and alone. Apparently, Steve had gotten him clothes. Nothing fancy, t-shirts and trousers, but it went a long way in making him look more like a person than just a patient. Plus, it gave him choice. She knew that was important. Bucky hadn't been allowed to make decisions on his own for so long that making choices, even small one like which clothes to wear, were huge.

 

Decisions often overwhelmed him, like the first time she and Steve helped him select what he wanted for dinner, and Bucky blanched at the list of options they gave him. It was Sam who helped them figure out what had gone wrong. He took over and had Bucky pick between pizza and pasta, and once he chose pizza, had him choose which toppings he wanted.

 

“Small steps,” he told them afterwards. “He's got to work his way up to bigger decisions.”

Steve considered that. “I think I understand,” he told Sam. “He didn't have choices for so long, and now to have them, he's overwhelmed.”

Sam nodded. “Exactly.”

 

Miranda quite liked Sam. She'd found out that he worked with war vets at the VA in DC, before becoming an Avenger and moving to New York. He'd also been instrumental in taking down SHIELD.

Plus, he was funny and kind and generally a wonderful guy. It was no wonder Steve liked him so much.

 

She'd spent a bit of time with each of the new team members, including Vision, who was indeed an android. Apparently his birth was rather... eventful. She still wasn't entirely clear on the details, but he was made using some sort of gem, part of Ultron's programming, and a lot of electricity courtesy of Thor.

And he sounded just like Jarvis. That was unnerving.

He was also incredibly kind and insightful as well as powerful beyond belief. She liked that about him, same as with Thor.

Thor, who was huge and massive and ancient, was also incredibly kind and gentle. The juxtaposition warmed her heart.

Similarly with Vision, for someone who was an android, who would be expected to be robotic and unemotional, he cared for everyone so much and chose his words with care.

Tony had done well, she reflected. (Although the colouring left something to be desired.)


	15. Chapter 15

Wanda was clearly still grieving.

God, she was so young. And all her life, she'd had someone at her side. And now she was alone. Sometimes, Miranda thought she could feel the grief emanating from her in waves, although that could have been accidental. Wanda admitted that she didn't always have control over her powers, especially when she was emotional.

“I've been better,” she told Miranda. “Before, with Pietro. We learned how to use them and control them together.”

Miranda nodded.

“I still miss him. Every single day.”

“It's not going to go away. It'll hurt less, with time, but it will always hurt. And that's okay.”

Wanda looked up at her. “You believe that,” she said. She wasn't asking. She knew.

Miranda nodded. “I do.”

Wanda smiled at her. “Thank you.”

Miranda shrugged. “If you ever need to talk,” she offered.

Wanda nodded back. “I shall be in touch,” she smiled shyly.

 

Miranda was going to leave, but she hesitated.

“You have something to ask me,” Wanda said knowingly.

Miranda nodded. “Do you know what?”

Wanda shook her head. “I could find out, but I won't. You're just sort of... projecting that you have something you wish to ask.”

“I do,” Miranda sighed. “And if you don't know, you don't have to answer, but I was just wondering, do you know what Bucky is thinking about? What it's like in his head?”

Wanda shuddered.

“Oh, I'm sorry if I crossed a line,” Miranda said quickly.

“No,” Wanda interrupted. “I was just... remembering. His head is... it's not a friendly place to be. I haven't looked, not on purpose, but when he first arrived, he was confused. He was often confused for the first few days, and I heard that confusion. But that has cleared more, and it's... I don't really know how to explain. I fear that if I did go into his mind, it would only hurt me. His memories are like shards of broken glass. Like they were all pictures in frames, but are now broken, with only fragments remaining. What was done to him?”

“He was tortured. Brainwashed. They took away his memories, threatened him. I don't know the whole of it, because he hasn't really spoken about it.”

Wanda nodded. “He's still trying to make sense of it himself. He has to first gather the shards and try to put them back together, but at the risk of cutting himself open.”

Miranda swallowed. It sounded worse than she'd ever thought. And still, she would bet it was beyond that even.

“Thank you,” she said finally. “I'm sorry for asking.”

“It's alright,” Wanda offered, tilting her head. “I was beginning to wonder if anyone ever would.”

“I guess they don't want to bother you.”

“It's no bother. Sometimes, it is nice to see how others think. Sometimes my mind gets lonely now, without Pietro. I miss him,” she said softly.

Miranda placed a hand on her shoulder. “I know,” she whispered.

They sat like that for a while, until Jarvis announced that Clint had cut himself on a boomerang arrow and required treatment, and also that dinner was ready.


	16. Chapter 16

It was another day before she was able to coax Bucky into speaking about his experiences.

 

It was hard, because he didn't remember most of it, and what he did remember was wrapped in pain and fear, and he didn't want to relive those memories. But more of it was coming back, and she needed to know what had happened. It needed to be on record.

 

It was just her in the room with Bucky, and Jarvis was recording their conversation.

 

“What's the first thing you remember?” she asked him.

Bucky was sitting cross-legged in the bed, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

He took a deep breath before speaking.

 

“I remember being in the snow. It was dotted with red, but I didn't realize why until later. I guess the cold and shock dulled the pain...”

 

It was more than an hour of Bucky speaking. Sometimes he stopped, hesitant, and other times the words tripped over themselves in an effort to get out of his mouth.

But he told her all that he remembered. About being taken from the snow, what was left of his arm removed and replaced with a weapon. The cold, always the cold. The drugs they gave him, the training they put him through. The punishments when he didn't obey.

He didn't know how long it took, but eventually they broke him. They wore him down until he was too thin to withstand any more pressure, and then they broke him.

They took away who he was. They took away his name and his identity and only gave him a label. He was the Asset.

“They used him against me,” he added. “They hurt him to make me obey. That was my punishment. Until they made me forget him.”

“But you didn't, did you? Not entirely.”

Bucky shook his head. “They kept wiping my memory. 'Wipe him and start over.' That's what they said. But I guess it didn't always work. Near the end, I got flashes. I think that's what finally made me...” He sighed before going on.

 

He detailed the few missions he could remember. Lots of assassinations. A flash of red hair and a car over a cliff. A snowy night and a car in the road.

And his final mission. Steve. The helicarriers. DC.

 

Some of what Bucky said made her want to throw up. Other parts made her wish she had superpowers so she could hurt every single one of the people who had ever hurt him. Other parts made something inside her break.

 

Finally Bucky stopped, after mentioning his visit to the Smithsonian, and covering the months between that visit and when he showed up at Miranda's with a wave of his hand.

 

Miranda nodded. “Thank you, for sharing that with me. I know it wasn't easy.”

Bucky looked at his feet.

“Can I hug you?”

He shrugged.

“Yes or no.”

He hesitated before nodding.

“I'm so sorry for everything that was done to you,” she told him, wrapping her arms around him. He was still wearing his blanket cape.

After thinking about it, he hugged back, but only with his one arm. She figured that he didn't want to hurt her.

 

“Are you tired?” she asked him, because his eyelids were drooping.

He shrugged, which was a definite yes.

 

She gave him the next dose of antibiotics, and turned down the light, leaving him to sleep. God knew he needed it.

 

Miranda couldn't really help it. As soon as she got back to her room she collapsed on her bed, sobbing. It was all too much.

The worst part was, she hadn't lived through it. She'd only heard Bucky's recollection, told to her in a flat voice. The man had lived through it. Anything she was experiencing had to be a hundred times worse for him.

 

She cried herself to sleep that night, mourning everything that had been done to him, everything he'd lost. Everything that could have been, if only he wasn't turned into a weapon.

 


	17. Chapter 17

She slept through the night, but it was restless, her dreams plagued with vague nightmares she couldn't remember when she woke up, only that they were awful. She had no doubt of the cause. Now she knew why Bucky didn't sleep much.

 

She stopped in to see him, proclaimed his wound nearly healed (healing factor for the win), and gave him his final dose of antibiotics. She then removed the IV, and told him that he didn't have to remain in the medical ward anymore.

He looked lost at the thought of going somewhere else.

“You can stay in the building, of course,” she assured him. “Tony has made it clear that you're welcome to stay here and recover. Figure things out. As long as you need.”

Bucky frowned. “Tony?”

“Tony. You know, Iron Man. This is his building. Tony Stark?”

“Howard Stark?”

Miranda shook her head.

Bucky's face fell. “He looks just like his father,” he murmured.

Miranda didn't know what to say to that. Finally, she just told him “you're welcome here as long as you need somewhere to stay.”

Bucky nodded.

 

He got out of bed hesitantly, his blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. He slept like that as well, she'd noticed.

With a wave farewell to her, he disappeared into the tower.

“You'll keep an eye on him, right Jarvis?” she asked quietly.

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

She sighed, and cleaned up the discarded medical supplies. A few more days to make sure Bucky was settled, and she could go home. But the thought didn't fill her with joy like she'd expected it would. That wasn't to say she didn't want to go home. She missed London. She missed Ron. She missed her job.

But she felt like she wasn't done yet. It baffled her.

 

She needed to get out, be alone somewhere quiet for a while.

She had planned to just leave the building, walk until she found something, or maybe hop on the tube and see where it took her, but Tony had other ideas. He insisted that Happy take her.

“I can get around on my own,” she retorted.

Tony shrugged. “I know. But it's dangerous out there these days, even with that douche from the Kitchen gone, and besides, Happy doesn't get to do much nowadays.” The last part was said in a loud whisper, in the hopes that the man wouldn't hear it; unlikely, since he was right next to them.

So Miranda acquiesced, and Happy drove her to a church.

 

She didn't know exactly where she wanted to go, just requested something quiet and serene. He said he knew the perfect place, and it turned out to be a Catholic church.

She got out of the car, uncertain.

“I'll wait here for you,” Happy told her.

She nodded. That wasn't what she was worried about, but she stuck her chin up and walked in anyway. It was ridiculous to be afraid of a building, no matter how old it was, or how holy it was supposed to be.

 

She sat in a pew near the back, unsure what the protocol was for such a situation. Was there some sort of priest that she had to speak to? Was it alright for her to just sit quietly in the back to think?

 

The church was empty except for another person, a man sitting in a row near the front. His head was bowed, possibly in prayer.

 

She bowed her head, mostly to stare at her shoes, because she sure didn't know how to pray. She knew, sort of, what you were supposed to do, but not in practice. She'd never really been religious. Her parents were lapsed... Christians, she thought. She couldn't quite remember.

And she'd never really liked the thought of life being predetermined, or fate, or heaven or hell or so many things that went along with being religious.

Sure, there were gods in her world, but there was no _god._

She knew Steve was Catholic. Went to church when they still did services in Latin. Not many of the other team members were. Bruce might have been, something he'd picked up in India or wherever else he'd been. Not any Western religion.

Clint wasn't, and neither was Natasha.

Tony... well, Tony was a man of science and a man of innovation. But he was also a man who'd seen the stars of other world and fallen back to earth like Icarus with melted wings. So she wasn't sure on him.

Thor... was confusing. She still wasn't entirely sure about his demi-god status or whatever, or how that related to current views of religion.

She remembered that Natasha told her about a time Steve called her ma'am, told her that gods don't dress like Thor, and then jumped out of an aeroplane.

Steve was certainly an enigma.

 

The point was, she didn't know how to pray. Didn't know if she wanted to, or what for.

But she'd asked Happy to take her somewhere quiet and serene, and the church was just that.

 

And beautiful too, she realized, looking around.

 

There was a noise at the front. She watched the only other man in the church get to his feet. He was wearing dark glasses, even in the dim light of the church. He faltered, and then fell onto the floor.

“Shit,” she blurted out, and pressed a hand to her mouth. Was that a sin to say in the church?

So much for being somewhere peaceful.

She hurried to his side.

“Sir, are you alright? Sir? Sir, can I help you? My name is Miranda, and I'm a paramedic.”

The priest or whatever he was called (reverend?) also hurried over to the man who'd fallen.

“Matthew?” he asked. “Matthew, are you hurt?”

“His name is Matthew?” she asked him. The reverend nodded.

“Matthew, can you hear me?” she asked loudly.

He groaned and started to stir. His suit jacket fell to the side as he moved, and revealed a growing patch of blood on his white shirt.

Okay. Blood loss was probably the problem here.

 

“Do you know him?” she asked the reverend, who nodded again. “Do you have a first aid kit I can use?”

“Yes, I'll get it.”

“Okay, but first, do you know if he has any medical conditions?”

The man shook his head. “Not that I know about.” He hesitated, like he wanted to say something else, but it was then that Matthew spoke.

“What happened?”

“You passed out. My name is Miranda, and I'm a paramedic.”

He frowned. “You're not from here.”

She rolled her eyes. “That is correct. I think we need to call an ambulance. You need to go to a hospital and get checked over.”

The reverend got to his feet and disappeared, possibly to find the first aid kit she'd asked for.

“No. No hospitals,” Matthew muttered. “S'not safe.”

She sat back on her heels and rolled her eyes at him. “You passed out because your blood pressure dropped when you got up. Your blood pressure dropped because you've lost blood, and your body can't compensate anymore. You regained consciousness when you fell, because blood could get to your head easier. If you get up, I'm willing to bet you'll pass out again. You need fluids to replace the blood you've lost, and the stitches probably need to be redone. I'm assuming you had stitches. As soon as the father gets back with the first aid kit I'll check.”

He furrowed his brow. “Are you a doctor?”

She sighed. “Something like that.”

He snickered. “You sound like Claire.”

“Claire sounds like a smart person.”

Matthew sighed. “She really is.”

 

The reverend returned with a modest first aid kit, and she slipped on one of the pairs of gloves inside. She undid Matthew's shirt and located the source of the bleeding. It was a wound on his side, a gunshot wound if she had to guess. Not only that, but the man was covered in scars.

“How did you get this?” she asked, pulling out a large gauze pad to press to his side.

He only hummed in response.

“Right,” she huffed, applying pressure. Matthew grimaced a bit.

“Can you get me some strips of tape?” she asked the reverend, and he nodded, unrolling the tape and tearing long strips off.

She secured the gauze pad to Matthew's side. It wasn't bleeding through yet, but it could.

 

“I've patched you up for now, but you still need fluids and stitches,” she told him.

Matthew groaned, and rolled onto his side.

“I need to leave.”

He pushed himself up onto his arms and knees, and made an attempt to get onto his feet. It didn't go very well, and Miranda couldn't help herself from reaching out to catch him from falling. No matter how much it would serve him right, he didn't need the shock of falling again. Instead she eased him back onto the pew.

“You can't go anywhere but to receive medical attention,” she told him firmly.

His head lolled to the side.

“Could call Claire.”

“Is Claire your personal physician or something?”

His mouth turned up in a smile. “Something like that,” he agreed. He dug in his pocket for a mobile, and pulled out a basic model.

Miranda accepted it when he passed it to her.

There was only one contact, labelled 'C'. She dialled.

 

The woman who answered sounded angry. “What the hell are you doing, it's the middle of the day.”

“Oh,” Miranda replied. “Sorry?”

“Who is this?”

“My name is Miranda. I'm calling for Matthew... I'm not sure of his last name, but he collapsed in church, and his side is bleeding, and he refuses to let me call an ambulance. He told me to call you instead.”

“Of course he did,” she muttered. “He's lucky I'm not working today. Well, if he can get here, I can patch him up again.”

Miranda noted the use of the word 'again'. Clearly this was not Claire's first time fixing Matthew.

“Alright, just a sec.” She tilted the phone away from her mouth to speak to Matthew. “She said that if you can get there, she can help.”

“Yeah, okay. I'll walk.”

“No you won't,” Miranda said sharply. “You won't make it out of the church alone.”

She got the distinct feeling that Matthew was glaring at her behind his sunglasses.

He muttered something under his breath about calling another friend, before gesturing for the phone.

“No,” Miranda told him, and replaced the mobile on the side of her face. “Listen, he says he can walk over, but he won't make it. If you give me the address, I'll drop him off. That way I'll know he's not going to bleed out in some back alley.”

“Still no ruling that out,” Claire muttered, more to herself than Miranda.

She chose to ignore that. “Address?”

“Yeah, you got a pen or something?”

“I'll remember,” she assured her.


	18. Chapter 18

The car and Happy were both still waiting outside, just like she knew they would be.

The reverend, who introduced himself to her as Father Lantom, helped her get Matthew to the car.

She was right about him not being able to make it himself, because Matthew could barely stand on his own, let alone walk.

She worried the dressing she'd placed wouldn't be enough.

 

Happy rushed out of the car and came around to open the door for her.

“Hey,” she greeted. “I've made some new friends. This is Matthew, and we're going to drop him off at his friend's house. If that's alright,” she added.

“Of course,” Happy replied.

The three of them managed to manoeuvre Matthew into the car.

“Thanks for your help,” Miranda told Father Lantom.

“I'm glad he has someone else looking out for him,” the reverend replied, smiling at her. She couldn't help but feel he knew more than he was letting on. Probably that whole confession thing.

 

She slid in next to Matthew, and gave Happy the address of Claire's flat. She was not looking forward to having to drag him up three or four flights of stairs though. Claire said her building didn't have a lift.

 

It didn't take long to drive there, and had Matthew been not bleeding, he likely could have made it. As he was, he barely managed to hold his head up during the ride, and Miranda finally just laid him down to prevent him from passing out again.

 

Happy helped her practically carry Matthew up the flights of stairs when they got there. She couldn't have done it on her own.

She thanked him once they were waiting outside Claire's door, figuring that she didn't want people to know that she was sort of a mob doctor. Or whatever. He went back down to wait in the car for her, and she knocked on the door.

 

Claire answered almost immediately, her gaze quickly assessing Matthew's condition.

“Jesus, Matt. What did you do this time?” she huffed, grabbing his other side to help Miranda ferry him into the flat.

“Eh, stitches,” he sighed.

“You pulled them?” she demanded. “Again?”

With Matthew, Matt, seated on the couch, Miranda looked between them.

“I should go...” she began, but neither of them heard her. They were engaged in a staring match, and he was protesting her judgement.

“It wasn't my fault!” he insisted. “I wasn't doing anything, I just went to church.”

“And then fainted,” Miranda added.

They both looked to her.

She shrugged. “Sorry. I'm sure that you guys know each other pretty well, but what he's saying is true. He was in the church when I got there, and he just collapsed when he got up.”

“From the blood loss?” Claire asked him.

Matt shrugged. “Blood loss combined with orthostatic hypotension?” he suggested hopefully.

Claire snorted. “Just cause you know how to use the words doesn't make you right. Stay,” she ordered him. “I'll get my kit.”

 

Miranda hovered, unsure if she should leave or not.

Claire returned with a bag and pulled out a blood pressure cuff.

“Do you want help?” she offered. “I'm an emergency care practitioner.”

Claire looked up, examined her.

“Sure,” she said after a moment. “Can you start an IV?”

“Claire-” Matt groaned.

“Don't,” she cut him off. “I'm about to do your pressure. Do you really want to bet me it's over 100 systolic?”

“... no,” he muttered.

“Of course,” Miranda told her.

She dug through the kit for gloves and a cannula set. She took Matthew's hand and inserted an IV. With Claire's instructions, she hung a bag of saline from a conveniently located coat rack. This clearly wasn't the first time she'd done this.

 

By then, Claire had gotten a full set of vitals.

“Shall we take bets on what your pressure is?” she asked, hanging her stethoscope around her neck again.

Matt was sulking. “No.”

“I'm going to guess... 94 over 60?” Miranda guessed.

Claire grinned. “I like you. You're good. It's 92 over 60.”

Miranda smiled back. “I've had a lot of practice.”

Claire pulled out a genuine suture kit that she must have pilfered from a hospital. She pulled Matt's shirt aside and removed the gauze pad she'd placed at the church.

Miranda was pleased to see it hadn't bled through, and the blood on the pad wasn't terrible.

Claire made small talk as she cleaned the wound and began to stitch it back up.

“So, where you from?”

“I live in London. I'm in town for a short while. There was... A situation came up, and I flew in for a while.”

Claire nodded. “I've never been. Always wanted to. Is it nice?”

Miranda shrugged. “Rainy. Crowded. But it's home. I lived in New York for about a year a while back, and it was nice, but it's not the same, you know. Is that a bullet wound?” she asked, leaning in closer. “That would explain why he didn't want to go to the hospital,” she told Claire.

“It's just a graze,” Matt protested.

“Yes, it's a bullet wound,” Claire told her.

“Claire,” he groaned.

“Shut up,” she told him kindly. “I'm making a new friend.”

Miranda smiled at her. “You do this a lot for him? Or for people in general?”

She sighed. “Mostly him. He's brought me some other people, but it's mostly been him.”

“How do you get into so much trouble?”

Claire snorted. “A blind vigilante running around in New York? Take your pick.”

“Blind?” Miranda repeated.

“Vigilante?” Matt groaned.

Claire paused in her suturing. “... oh. I assumed she knew. Sorry,” she winced.

Miranda frowned. “How did I not notice you were blind? Where's your cane?”

“S'in my pocket,” he huffed. “I had it folded up in there while I was at church.”

“The glasses make more sense now,” she agreed.

“So are you not going to get caught up on the vigilante part?” Matt asked, raising an eyebrow. He took the glasses off then, apparently not feeling the need to hide anymore.

Miranda shrugged. “Buddy, the reason I was in New York was for the Avengers. I was like their personal medic.”

Thankfully Claire was done suturing, because she dropped the items in her hands to stare at her.

“Really?” she asked, incredulous.

Miranda nodded. “SHIELD hired me first, then Tony Stark snatched me out from under them. I lived in the Tower with them for a while. Then I went back to London, because... well, a friend came back.” She smiled.

Matt was somehow staring at her. It was unnerving. “You've met the Avengers?” he asked.

“Oh yeah. More than met them, I've treated them all. They're surprisingly hard to pin down, especially Tony.”

“Tony?” Claire squeaked. “You're on a first name basis?”

“Oh, I threatened him,” she smirked. “Told him to sit his ass down or I'd get Clint to shoot him with a tranquilizer arrow. It worked,” she nodded.

Matt was grinning at her. “Huh. Good to know. You still working there? It'd be nice to know I had somewhere else to go if I got hurt.”

Claire swatted him gently on the head. “Hey. Watch what you're saying.”

“No, I'm back in London. Just here for a little while. Not sure how long,” she admitted. “I sort of... stumbled into another superhero. Brought him back here for treatment.”

“And while in New York, you stumbled into another. Or he stumbled into you,” Claire added. “How you feeling Matt?”

“Less dizzy,” he admitted.

Claire smirked. “Yeah, no shit. I'll check your pressure again in a bit. If it's good, you can leave when the bag's done.” She turned to Miranda. “Could you take him home? I don't have a car. And I don't drive. And I really don't want him parkouring across rooftops.”

Miranda nodded.

“I wouldn't do that,” Matt protested. “I'm not in the costume.”

Claire patted the new bandage down. “Sure. Now, don't pull these stitches because there is a limit to how many times I will stitch up a single wound. And you've reached it.”

“Costume?” Miranda asked.

“Yeah,” Claire replied, rolling her eyes. “He's finally got some body armour. It's red and black, complete with horns. Ridiculous, but better than the black thing he was wearing before, which offered zero protection.”

Miranda considered it. The description sounded familiar. Possibly something that someone had mentioned to her? No, she'd seen it. Tony was watching surveillance footage.

“Hey, so are you the Daredevil I've heard about?”

“You heard about me in London?” Matt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, no. Tony mentioned you. He's been trying to figure out your identity.”

“Of course he is,” Matt muttered. “It's not enough he makes a mess out of Manhattan, then nearly destroys an entire country, but he has to ruin my life too.”

Miranda winced. “You know he didn't do those things on purpose.”

“No one ever does,” Matt replied.

“Loki,” Claire retorted.

“Ultron,” Miranda added.

“No one who calls themselves a hero ever does,” Matt amended.

“Considering you're a lawyer, you really need to work on not leaving all those loopholes.”

“You're a lawyer?” Miranda asked, raising an eyebrow.

Matt nodded.

“Lawyer by day, vigilante by night. He's kind of busy,” Claire told her. “Arm,” she told Matt, and he stuck out the one without the IV. She wrapped the cuff around it.


	19. Chapter 19

“Hey, give me your mobile,” Miranda told Matt, who handed it over without question. And then added another. “You have two?” she asked.

He shrugged. “One is mine, one is a burner.”

“Which would be the one I used to call Claire,” she realized. No wonder it was so empty.

Matt nodded.

 

Miranda added her number to both, but on the burner only named herself 'M'.

“I'll be in town for a bit longer, probably around a week, and if you need me during that time, just text or call. And even when I've gone back to London, still feel free to call.” She shrugged. “I once talked Thor through an ice giants invasion. I'm pretty good with superhero therapy.”

Matt smirked at her. “I'll keep that in mind.”

 

“Pressure's up,” Claire announced, deflating the cuff. “108 over 76.”

“Wow, almost normal,” Miranda drawled.

Matt rolled his eyes. Probably. Or maybe he just didn't know what they were doing. But she'd bet on rolling.

“Saline's almost done,” she noted.

“Good,” Matt muttered. “Then I can get out of here, and this... barrage of worry.” He waved a hand at both of them.

“Oh please,” Claire scoffed. “If anything, it's better than usual, because Miranda and I are talking to each other about you, and I'm not talking at you.”

Matt scowled. “The effect is still the same.”

“You want my number as well?” Miranda offered. “I've got a lot of experience with moody superheroes.”

Claire grinned. “Hell yes.”

She passed her mobile over, and Miranda added her number. “Same goes for you what I told Matt. Except you'll probably need less of the therapy, and more of the bitching over stupid patients.”

“I'm still right here,” Matt protested. They both ignored him.

Claire smiled. “Sounds good. You ready to take this lump home?”

Miranda shrugged. “Why not.”

She removed the IV from Matthew's hand and placed a bandage over the spot. It bled slightly.

“You need to be eating and drinking properly,” Claire told him. “I'm pretty sure you're dehydrated and your electrolytes are fucked. It really didn't help when it came to the blood loss.”

“That the technical term?” Matt smirked. He pulled his cane out of his jacket, where it had been folded up small enough to fit.

“Yeah, it is. I'm a professional,” Claire told him.

Matt placed his glasses back on his face and buttoned his shirt.

“You're all bloody,” Miranda told him.

Matt frowned, sniffed. “You're right,” he sighed. He looked up expectantly.

Claire sighed, and headed off to another room. She came back a moment later with a button up shirt that she handed to him.

Matt beamed at her, and undid the bloody shirt, putting the clean one on.

“I owe you,” he told her.

“So damn much,” she sighed. “The jacket is fine though.”

He smiled at her. “Thanks Claire.” He stood up, shaking his cane out to the full length, and giving her a peck on the cheek. “For everything.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed again. “Go on, get out of here. I'm working tonight and I need to sleep before then.”

Matt headed for the door.

“It was lovely to meet you,” Miranda told her.

“Same,” Claire grinned. “Usually he brings bloody friends. It's a nice change to have a friend bring him.”

 

They waved goodbye to each other, and Miranda headed down the stairs after Matt, who was at least holding his own this time.

 

Happy was still waiting outside, and he got up to open the door again.

“He's looking better,” he noted, referring to Matt.

Miranda nodded, directing Matt into the car. “That he is. We're going to drop him home. I hope that's alright.”

“Of course Mrs Higgins!”

“Happy, what did I tell you?” she sighed.

“Miranda. Sorry.”

She smiled. “It's fine.”

She slid in next to Matt, grateful that he could at least do his own seatbelt up this time.

 

“I never really asked how you do it,” she said conversationally, after Matt had given Happy his address. It wasn't far from Claire's building.

“Are you asking now?” he replied.

She considered it. “Nah. There are some things that should just stay a secret. It's nice to have that sense of wonder.”

Matt hummed. “You're the first one who hasn't,” he admitted.

“Out of how many?”

He ducked his head. “Okay, only two others,” he muttered.

She grinned at him. She hoped that he could tell.

 

Claire said he was blind, and she believed that. His eyes never focused on anything, and they didn't react to light, as far as she could tell. He was indeed blind.

And yet still so very capable of being a superhero.

 

Man, Clint would love him.

 

“Why are you here?” he asked her. “I know that you were here before, but why come back, and only for such a short time?”

“Someone came to me for help. I can't really talk about it. But I'm here to get him settled, get him help. Then I've got to go back home, to my life.”

He nodded.

Miranda thought back to Bucky, about how he said empty when she asked how he was feeling, about how his eyes always followed her around the room when he did something.

“I just hope that I can help him,” she admitted.

“I'm sure you can,” he assured her. “You managed to help me, after all, and I'm a pretty contrary son of a bitch,” he grinned.

“That a fact?” she asked.

He smiled at her and nodded. Jesus, it was a good smile. She bet they just ate that up in court.

 

Happy pulled up to a building. “Here we are,” he announced.

Matt opened the door and turned his head back to her.

“Thank you,” he said finally. “For everything you did today.”

“You're welcome. Stay safe.”

He smirked. “I'll try.”

He closed the door and headed into the building, cane swinging in front of him. She and Happy watched as he went into the building before leaving.

“Where to now?” he asked, looking at her in the rearview mirror.

“The Tower,” she sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Home.”


	20. Chapter 20

Natasha was the first one she saw when she got back.

She raised an eyebrow. “Have fun?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your shirt is bloody,” she pointed out.

Miranda glanced down. Natasha was right, of course. Her shirt had blood smeared on it, probably from where Matt's shirt rubbed against hers.

She sighed. “I sort of... did some first aid.”

Natasha grinned. “Trouble just seems to follow you, doesn't it?”

“I met another superhero,” she admitted.

“Really? Which one?”

“The guy in Hell's Kitchen.”

“Daredevil? What was he doing out in the middle of the day?”

Miranda winced. “It wasn't exactly Daredevil I met.”

“You met his civilian identity?”

Miranda nodded.

“Cool.”

“So you're not going to ask?”

She scoffed. “Please. I could figure out who he was in about five minutes if I wanted to. But I like having a little bit of mystery in my life. Don't tell Tony though. He'll get it out of you for sure.”

Miranda rolled his eyes. “I'm sure Tony could find out his identity if he wanted to as well. He just likes being in on all the latest gossip.”

“So true,” Natasha nodded.

“I'm going to go change and see if this shirt is salvageable or not.” She sighed. It was brand new, and the blood probably wasn't going to come out. She liked it.

“Ask Jarvis if you need help. You wouldn't believe the things I've gotten blood out of.” Natasha grinned wickedly, and sauntered away.

Miranda was reminded just how deadly the woman really was. Sometimes her appearance was deceptive, like when they watched movies and she showed up in her Hawkeye pyjamas.

 

* * *

 

The blood did come out of her new shirt. Jarvis was a laundry wizard.


	21. Chapter 21

The next night, Steve said that Bucky would like to watch a movie with some of the other team members. Miranda hadn't seen Bucky much since the previous day, just once to check on his side, and another time when he disappeared around a corner, but other than that, he'd remained out of sight.

Clint had apparently run into him in the vents, an encounter that was terrifying for both of them.

 

But Steve said that Bucky wanted to meet some of the other team members, and a movie was a low key way to do so. Miranda was pretty sure he was quoting Sam on that. Sam had been the only other person to see Bucky on purpose. Apparently they'd been talking.

 

So they let Bucky pick dinner (from four choices) and Miranda, Sam, and Steve spent nearly an hour trying to figure out what movie would be alright to watch.

Steve immediately vetoed a couple that he knew about. Sam also offered insight about things that Bucky would likely react badly to. (Toy Story 2 being one of them.)

 

It was Clint who recommended the movie they finally went with, one of his favourites. Brave. Normal movie night rules apparently didn't apply, because that movie had been chosen far more than a few times by Clint, although Miranda would be more than happy to watch it again with Bucky.

 

So while they ate Chinese takeaway (Bucky's choice, above Thai, Korean, and Italian) Steve, Miranda, Sam, Clint, and Bucky sat down to watch the movie. The rest of the team took a raincheck so as to not scare him away by showing up all at once.

Bucky had his blanket wrapped around him, and he'd dragged an armchair into a corner of the room. (Sam had explained about hypervigilance, and Steve explained about sight lines and exits. They all understood far too well.)

Steve was sitting on the side of the couch closest to him, taking care not to look at him.

Miranda had her legs tucked up under her and Sam was on the couch next to Steve. Clint was perched on the back of the couch as he pressed play.

 

Miranda just hoped that it would go well.

 

* * *

 

Bucky seemed to enjoy the movie, insofar as he didn't leave abruptly, didn't pull out a weapon and start stabbing innocent pillows, and didn't shut down.

Miranda considered it a success.

 

Bucky disappeared as soon as the credits started rolling, although to where, Miranda couldn't be sure. Steve said that Bucky had sort of made himself at home in the guest room on his floor. It involved a blanket nest and a small pile of weapons. Steve wasn't concerned, so neither was she.

 

Tony? Well, he was always a little bit concerned about something, no matter how much he pretended to be carefree. And hell, he wasn't even at the movie. He was in his workshop, mulling over the issue that Bucky's arm presented. Every time she dared ask him about it, Tony broke into a tirade about how forties tech should not be that advanced, and how the hell was he supposed to make it lighter if it was wired into robocop's brain.

So she took that to mean he wasn't making much progress. It was alright; they had time.

 


	22. Chapter 22

Bucky agreed to meet with the therapists that Sam knew, and Sam arranged for the three of them to come by and speak to Bucky so he could decide who he liked best.

Choice was important, Sam reminded her and Steve. And Bucky having a say in his care was even more important.

 

They would all come to the Tower on the same day, spread a good distance apart. Bucky hadn't left the building since he'd gotten there, and Miranda wasn't sure if that would even be a good idea. Not just because of his somewhat precarious state of mind, but also because he was sort of an extremely wanted criminal.

Everyone kept forgetting that.

 

(And she knew that it would all come to a screeching halt at some point. Eventually, Bucky would be called to face justice for the crimes the Winter Soldier had committed. She just hoped the process wouldn't break him.

On the other hand, she knew a lawyer now.)

 

* * *

 

The day the therapists were to arrive was stressful. Bucky didn't eat anything for breakfast, and his arm kept whirring as he clenched and unclenched his metal fist. Sam and Steve were flanking him on either side, Miranda and Tony the only other ones in the kitchen. Steve was whispering to Bucky, but it didn't seem to be calming him at all. Eventually they just gave up on getting him to eat.

 

The first therapist showed up around ten, and Sam and Bucky went off with her to a study on the floor below Miranda's. Bucky had agreed to the appointments only if Sam sat in with him. Whether it was out of concern for the therapist's safety, or some fear of his own, she couldn't be sure. But Sam had agreed, of course.

 

That appointment took less than an hour. The next one wasn't until noon, and Sam and Steve both tried to coax Bucky into eating something before then. Clint was even making macaroni and cheese in the hopes that Bucky would eat it.

He did, surprisingly enough. He took the entire pot from Clint, who looked at it mournfully, and sighed before starting another.

 

“So what did you think of her?” she asked Bucky.

He shrugged, shoving another forkful of macaroni in his mouth.

“Sam?” he asked.

Sam shrugged as well. “I thought it went alright. She has a lot of experience with PTSD, but she has more experience with children than adults. That could be an issue later on. She does do a lot of art therapy, which Bucky seemed to like the sound of.”

Bucky ducked his head, hiding behind his hair. He kept eating, but didn't acknowledge them.

“I like art,” he said finally, around a mouthful of macaroni. “I like the idea of making things.”

Miranda nodded. “It does sound good.”

 

Bucky ate the last of the macaroni and cheese, and peered at Clint, who was making another pot. He curled around it protectively. Bucky smirked at him.

Clint swore under his breath. Miranda was pretty sure he mentioned something about soviet assassins with robotic arms using their situation to their advantage.

 

Sam and Bucky disappeared for the next appointment at noon, and reappeared only half an hour later.

Miranda raised an eyebrow at them.

“How was that one?”

“No,” Bucky growled, storming off.

Sam winced. “It didn't go very well,” he admitted. “That guy has a lot of experience with dissociation, but less with PTSD. And while Bucky does have some depersonalization issues, I think the PTSD is the more important issue. This guy didn't see it that way. He also just seemed to rub Bucky the wrong way, for reasons I couldn't quite understand.”

Miranda nodded. “One to cross off the list then?”

“Yep,” Sam sighed. “I've texted Steve to let him know that Bucky stormed off. Steve's going to try and calm him down before the last appointment.”

 

Miranda sighed. “Good luck to him. Will the last one be better?”

Sam nodded and passed her a resume. “I saved the best for last. This guy has experience with PTSD, dissociation, veterans, and pretty much everything that Bucky needs.”

She skimmed through the man's work history, his experience, his education.

“He seems perfect,” she admitted. “Why not just choose him right off the bat?”

Sam shrugged. “He's a little unorthodox. And I wanted to give Bucky the choice.”

“How has he not been snatched up by a dozen hospitals already?” she wondered.

“Apparently, money goes a long way.”

Miranda sighed. “Tony?”

Sam nodded.

“Does he do art therapy?” she asked.

“No, but I figured if Bucky was interested, I could get someone else just for that. Hell, everyone here could probably benefit from some art therapy.”

Miranda nodded. That was for sure.

“The next appointment is when, at two?”

Sam nodded. “He's got a while to cool down until then.”

“I wish you luck,” she told Sam.

He nodded his thanks.

 


	23. Chapter 23

Miranda figured that Bucky and Sam would reappear after an hour or so with the last therapist, but 3:30 came and went with no sign of them still. It was probably good, meaning that Bucky had a bunch of questions, or was getting along with him well. There was a tiny part of her that worried, of course.

 

Sam finally appeared around four, not that she was waiting for him. Only a little bit.

“So?” she asked him, setting her tablet down.

Sam grinned. “It went great. Bucky really seems to get on with his unusual style, and I think it could work well for him.”

“That's wonderful,” she smiled back. “Where did he go?”

“I think he went to find Steve. Talk over his options, maybe?”

Miranda nodded. “Did he say anything about art therapy?”

Sam nodded. “Bucky said he'd like to try it. Even if it's just for Steve, which it could be, I think it'll be good for him.”

“Does he know that Steve enjoys art?”

Sam shrugged. “Bucky's seen him sketching. I'm not sure if he remembers that Steve wanted to be an artist before all this started.”

“Really? I don't think he mentioned that to me. I knew he was passionate about it, but I didn't know he considered it as a career. I suppose there wasn't much else a guy could do back then if he was sick all the time,” she mused. She shook her head. “I guess it doesn't really matter if Bucky knows that or not. As long as it makes him happy. Has he chosen a therapist yet?”

“Well, not officially, but I think he has.”

Miranda grinned at him. “That's great to hear. It also makes me sad though,” she admitted. “I'll be going back to London shortly, and I'm going to miss all of you. You'll keep me updated on how everyone is doing, right?” She said everyone, but they both knew she was speaking about someone more specific.

“Of course.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you. I'm glad that he's going to be in good hands.”

“The best,” Sam grinned.

 

* * *

 

The next day at breakfast, Sam announced that Bucky chose the third therapist, just like everyone suspected he would. His appointments would start in a few days.

Steve reported that he was sleeping better, and Bucky reluctantly agreed. He was present at the meal that also housed most of the team, which was a first for him. He'd come to meals with only a few other people, but more than five and he seemed to get spooked. Yet there he was, nearly a dozen people surrounding him, and he seemed to be doing alright. He spoke without first being addressed. He participated in conversation instead of sitting quietly and simply watching. He and Clint seemed to be on even footing when it came to sarcastic comments, and if Clint was upset that someone was stealing his shtick, he didn't show it.

 

In a rare moment of silence, Bucky added that he was thinking about cutting his hair. Tony cheered at that and Steve made a quip about Thor's hair length, which was rivalling Wanda's for longest hair on the team.

Thor beamed, and said something about the best warriors on Asgard having long hair, especially Lady Sif.

Breakfast then somehow deteriorated into debates about hair styles and villainy.

As far as Miranda could tell, no consensus had been reached, and the argument was still going full force by the time she slipped away.

 

Later that day, she found out that Sam was arranging for art therapy. Also that Bucky had taken to working out in the gym when he was upset and he'd even been sparring with Steve. He'd also started a conversation with Natasha in Russian, which surprised them both. Bucky didn't know that he knew Russian. It was more muscle memory than anything, but Steve was apparently thrilled, and had positively _beamed._

Bucky even seemed a bit impressed with himself.

 

Miranda was so damn proud of him. He'd come so far in such a short period of time, simply from when he showed up in her flat to now. Not only physically, healing and getting stronger, but also mentally. Emotionally, psychologically. He was finding his voice, in all the senses of the word. And he didn't have to remember who he was before. No one expected him to be the same. His memories weren't returning, but he was carving out a place for himself in this new world. He was defining himself, brand new and hopeful, rather than the remains of someone he used to be.

_She was so damn proud._

But she was also sad. Because it meant it was time for her to go home.

 

She called Ron and told him, then asked Jarvis to start arranging her a flight.


	24. Chapter 24

These were the things that Miranda learned about Bucky Barnes in the short time she spent with him.

Even though he didn't speak much, everything he said was worth listening to.

He was fiercely protective of Steve, despite the fact that he could very much take care of himself.

Underneath all the pain and scars, both physical and not, there was still some of the man he used to be at his core. The cheeky smile, the Brooklyn drawl, the gentle teasing. All that was original Bucky, at least according to Steve. (She didn't want to think that he only saw it because he was looking for it. She didn't want to take that from him.)

The guy was smart. He soaked up information like a sponge, speeding through decades of history faster than Steve could fathom.

He was strong. Jesus, he was so strong. Anyone who had been through what he had, and made it out the other side had to be. But it was more than that. Here was a man who'd had everything stripped from him, everything that made him _him_ taken away, leaving only the skills and the drive. And he got it back. He reclaimed himself. He took back his name and his identity and did the one thing that no one ever expected him to do: he survived.

In the time in between SHIELD falling, and showing up at her flat, Bucky had taken down no fewer than seven Hydra bases on his own. (Steve wasn't happy to hear about that.)

Bucky had also saved no fewer than seven dogs in that time. (Clint was thrilled to hear about that.)

No, those two things weren't related.

He still had the capacity for love. Miranda had once walked by the living room to find Steve and Bucky hugging. With both arms, both of them involved, which was more than she could say about her hug with Bucky. Steve saw her walk by, and his eyes were filled with tears. She said nothing. (She might have cried a little bit too. Later.)

His smile was beautiful. She bet his laugh would be too. She figured it was just a matter of time before she heard it.


	25. Chapter 25

When she did finally go home, it was on a private flight that Tony set up for her. She'd missed the luxury of not having to stop in multiple places for fuel along the way.

She liked the feel of it.

 

Ron was waiting for her at the airport.

She hugged him for at least a full minute, her eyes spilling over with tears.

“I missed you,” she told him, her voice cracking.

He pulled her back to look at her. “What's wrong? What happened.”

“Nothing,” she insisted. “Nothing... and everything, sort of. I just remembered how much I love you.”

He tutted at her, wrapping her in his arms again. “What, you leave for a week and forget how great I am?”

“Never,” she told him. “Never ever. I will never forget.” _You are the last inch of me,_ she wanted to say, but didn't.

“This is one of those things that's going to require bottles of wine and boxes of chocolate to get out of you, isn't it?”

She nodded into his chest.

“Alright,” he murmured, patting her hair down. “Come on. Let's go home.”

He grabbed her luggage from behind her and pulled it along with them, one arm still wrapped around her shoulders. (How she managed to come back with luggage when she'd gone with nothing but the clothes on her back, she didn't understand.)

She sighed. It was good to be home.

 

* * *

 

All in all, she collected a bunch of new superheroes, made some non-superhero friends (okay, one), and visited two countries illegally. Or maybe three. She wasn't sure if she was in the States illegally or not, since she'd lived there before.

 

But god, it was good to be back in London. Home. She never knew when Sherlock would need her, and always liked to be there, just in case.

 

(Last she'd heard, he was helping raise baby Watson, who she had yet to meet. She figured that was a good thing, since she tended to meet Sherlock and his entourage in times of crisis. She hadn't seen him since the fall when he was shot, and she'd heard his recovery was long and drawn out. Nonetheless, apparently the four of them were happy, and she was pleased at the news. One less thing for her to worry about.)

 

London was where she belonged. Like Steve Rogers needed Bucky Barnes (and vice versa), Hell's Kitchen needed Daredevil, and the world needed the Avengers, London needed Miranda Higgins. It was a good feeling.


End file.
